New Days' Resolutions
by Elisabeth Harker
Summary: When disaster strikes the Jacobs' household David is left trying to support his family, and Jack is left trying to figure out what to do with David. Javid. friendship/mild slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't even come remotely close to owning The Newsies. Not mine! Very exceedingly and in every way not mine!

Notes: This is my first Newsies fan fic. I'm in the new fandom honeymoon stage and therefore veryVERYvery enthusiastic. I'd love to talk more with other fans. Please let me know what you think! Criticism is welcome.

Trigger Warning: Character death.

**,:'.';**

"There you are!" David called, half-walking half-running over to the shop awning that Jack stood under. It was raining, the kind of rain that turned to ice as soon as it hit the ground and made it hard to walk without sort of skidding this way and that. David kept having to spread out his arms to try and balance, and even then it wasn't easy. There was also the matter of trying to keep hold of Les, an impossible feat once the boy caught sight of his "hero". One second David had his little brother firmly by the hand, and the next Les was bolting straight for Jack.

"Better work on your ice-skating technique there, less you wanna bash your head 'gainst those bricks," Jack laughed, grabbing Les in a one armed hug barely just in time to keep him from sliding face first into a wall.

David had fully planned on being angry, but the way that Les looked at Jack as if his greatest wish in the world had been granted, and the grin that Jack shot up at him over the younger boy's head were almost enough to make all the anger dry up.

Almost, but not quite.

"I thought you said you were going to meet us after school today," David said, once he was close enough to be heard without shouting.

"This is us meetin' ain't it?"

"Jack always keeps his promises. If he says he's going to meet us, he does," Les piped up.

David sighed. It wasn't that Les was wrong, precisely, it was just that he wasn't bothered by Jack's unpredictability. Making plans sort of implied that there was, well, a _plan_ of some kind, and somehow that was never the case when it came to meeting up with Jack. They'd agree on a time and a place, and Jack would always show up at some other time in some other place. If they'd agreed to play cards at the lodging house after supper, David would be surprised to find Jack waiting for him at the school gate the moment the bell rang. If Jack said he'd meet David at the school gate, David would search and search until he gave up, only to have Jack tap on his window at some ungodly hour of the night.

"We waited for you for over an hour," David pointed out. "I was worried maybe something had happened. You did say Tibby's at four o'clock sharp. I only asked you about twelve times."

"Nobody likes an ice-storm, Davey. I got papes to sell," Jack said, brandishing the half-dozen or so still in his arms. "Sometimes that's how it is for us working boys. Wanna hawk a few for old time's sake?"

"I'll sell them!" Les said, quick to jump at the opportunity. Reaching into his pocket he drew out his wooden sword, as though the customers were a foe to be battled with, and David couldn't help a grudging smile as he reached out for a few papers of his own.

Between the three of them they got through it in less than an hour, mostly because of Les. It had been a few months since he'd had a chance to sell papers, and he brought out the theatrics in full force, coughing up a storm as he pretended to slip about on the ice. David guessed that none of the buyers liked seeing a little boy like Les traipsing about in such miserable weather any more than they themselves liked traipsing about in it.

David, for his part, was glad to be outside. After six hours of sitting in a classroom being told what to think with classmates who rolled their eyes when he dared to voice his own opinions, it was good to be doing something real, even if it was a lot less grand than the theories he studied.

"That guy gave me five cents and told me to have a happy new year," Les announced after his last paper had been sold. "It isn't… I mean it _ain't_ New Years for almost another month. It ain't even Christmas yet!"

Jack laughed, and pat Les on the back.

"People say this New Year is gonna be real special, seeing how it's a new centuary an' all," Jack said.

"David says it's gonna be a new milleny…milleny… milleny something," Les looked up at David, and shrugged in a manner that was much like Jack's, and that David suspected was done just as much on purpose as the accent that Les liked to slip into from time to time.

"It's going to be a new millennium. One thousand years."

"Yeah, the papes are full of it," Jack agreed. " 'Specially the Journal Tribune, on account of some people saying it's gonna be the end of the world. Bet Hearst thinks he's real clever for that one."

David laughed, loudly enough that a man hurrying past them stopped to stare with a raised eyebrow, as if wondering why three newsies were standing around in the rain having the audacity _not_ to look miserable. Jack caught the look too, and broke into laughter as well, slinging an arm over David's shoulder.

David had expected the man to hurry on his way to get out of the rain and ice, but instead he stared for a while longer, took a halting step forward, stopped, and then seemed to make up his mind to approach the group.

"Excuse me young man," he said. His voice was high and thin, and in his hands he held a black umbrella with a gold tip. "Far be it for me to intrude, but…"

"What is it you want?" Jack asked before David could say anything. There was an edge to his voice that struck David as strange. He guessed the man was only going to ask for directions. His accent didn't sound like a New York accent.

"I'd rather speak with you and the little one in private," the man said without acknowledging Jack.

"Um… no thank you?" David started, too blindsided by the request to really consider how to answer, because how weird was it, really?

At this the man sighed in the most comically world-weary way that David had ever heard.

"Well," he said, "I had wanted to avoid being rude, but I consider it my duty to say something when I see something that troubles me…"

"So why don't you skip the introduction and just say it?" Jack challenged, in the exact same tone he used when he was trying to provoke the Delancy brothers. David put his hand on Les's arm, wondering if the man planned to scold him for pretending to be sick.

The man made a sort of _hmph_ sound, clearly waiting for David to say something. He even tapped his foot on the ground. By his fifth and most high-pitched _hmph_ David was convinced that the old man was in fact a senile stage performer who'd escaped the theatre, mistaken him for his co-star, forgotten his lines, and was consequently overacting like hell to make up for it.

"Yes?" David asked finally.

"It is of no importance."

The man turned away and David shrugged, making a face to let Jack know how strange he found the whole situation, since it would be rude to say something while the poor old fellow was in earshot.

"I guess that's it then." David said. The old man started to shuffle off very very slowly in one direction while the boys went another and that would have been the end of it if the man had not in the loudest and most unwhisper-like of stage whispers proclaimed that well-bred young men should not keep company with those below their station.

David's mouth dropped open, and Les reached again for his sword.

"Can we soak him?" The little boy asked, jumping up and almost slipping again.

"Nah. Wouldn't be a fair fight," Jack said, patting Les on the back. David saw that Jack looked more thoughtful than upset, and relaxed a bit.

"Nosey old men," said David, in a much quieter echo of the man's voice, "should learn to keep their unfounded opinions to themselves."

With that David paused, looked Jack straight in the eye, and won a smile from his friend with what he thought was a passable imitation of the man's excessive _hmph_ing.

Now, David wasn't much of an actor, and he knew it, but he also knew that when Jack took his arm and started walking with him in the direction of Tibby's that he'd managed well enough and he could safely look forward to a fun evening with his best friend.

**,:'.';**

It took Jack all of thirty seconds to wolf down his hot dog. True, he could've taken the time to savor the first thing he'd had to eat since breakfast with the nuns that morning, but then he would've missed Les's chipmunk cheeks as he tried to copy him.

"It's not a race Les," David scolded. David could be so predictable at times.

"Only isn't 'cause you know you're gonna lose," Jack teased.

"I read somewhere that if you eat too quickly it just makes you hungrier."

"I ain't hungry no more. Guess you can't learn everything from books."

"Well, no, of course you can't, but they aren't wrong about everything either."

Jack shrugged. "So, what you think of that man from before?"

"He was a big hoity-toity jerk!" Les exclaimed, before David could answer.

"A _little_ hoity-toity jerk," David corrected. The words sounded a lot less natural coming out of his mouth than they did from his brother, but Jack always liked it when he got David to talk like that. "I think he must have been senile. That's the only way to explain it really."

"Yeah, senile," Jack agreed. This word he hadn't heard before, but it _did_ sound natural coming from David, and he supposed it meant stupid or crazy or something like that.

"He kind of reminded me of Pulitzer, the way everything he did was almost too exaggerated to take seriously."

"Maybe old Joe has a brother."

"Joe's too mean to have a brother," Les piped up. "I bet he'd eat him or something."

"I'd like to see that headline," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. At that moment the waiter stopped by with three cups of hot tea, on the house. Jack was glad of it. Tea couldn't fill you up and he wasn't about to waste money on it, but it was good to have something to warm up with.

"I don't see what that man was going on about anyway," David said, taking a bite out of his still mostly unfinished hotdog. Les was quick to agree, but Jack barked out a laugh at David's words that he only realized a split second afterwards didn't sound too nice.

"What?" David asked.

"You really have no idea what he was 'goin' on about'?"

David nodded, every bit as earnest as he always was.

"You and me Dave, we don't exactly look the same."

"It's not like it matters," David said, and Jack let it go, because he knew that David meant it. When David had first returned to school Jack had half expected that would be it for their friendship. After all, what school boy would want to hang around a group of street rats like the newsies? David wouldn't quit planning things and finding times to see him, though, and even when Jack had surprised David at the school gate in front of all his classmates David had acted happy to see him.

"Guess not," Jack said with a shrug.

"Look, if it were up to me, I'd be out selling papes with you."

"Sure you would," Jack said. David frowned, but Jack figured he'd get over it soon enough. For somebody so smart, David sure could say some stupid things sometimes.

"You don't have to doubt every word that comes out of my mouth, you know."

"Jack's right," said Les, who was every bit as predictable as his brother. "I'm better at selling anyway, aren't I Jack?"

"You're only the best selling partner a guy could ask for," Jack said, ruffling Les's hair. "Just don't let him grow any, and the three of us can sell together come summer, alright Davey?"

Jack spit in his hand in way of truce, and felt a bit lighter when Dave took it.

"We were talking about New Year's resolutions at school," Les said. "Do you have any Jack?"

"Tons of 'em. You go first."

"Dave says I need to study more arithmetic, so I guess I'm going to do that. Pa will like it too."

Jack nodded. "What about you Dave?"

"I guess I don't think of more resolutions on New Year's Eve than I do any other day."

"Mine's to go to Santa Fe," Jack said, if only because that had been his plan for so long, and try as he might he couldn't think of a better one to replace it with. Dave seemed to know that his heart wasn't in it, because he didn't voice any objections. Les, on the other hand, slammed his fists down on the table.

"No!" The boy said, and it kind of touched Jack, because even though he knew that he'd be missed if he left, it was nice to get it affirmed now and then.

"Easy Les, it's not like I'm going to go tomorrow."

Les crossed his arms.

"If it's a New Year's Resolution you have to do it within a year. You can't leave this year. The newsies need you," he whined.

"Fine then. If Dave gets to make new days' resolutions, then I get to have one big one for my life, and you can study your arithmetic. Fair?"

"Only if you don't leave any time in the next year," Les said.

"I can't promise nothin', but I'll probably stick around awhile longer."

David, in the meantime had finished his food, and had a happy, thoughtful look on his face.

"What're you smiling about?" Jack asked.

"New day's resolutions. It's a good phrase. I like it."

"I thought you would."

With that David got up to settle the bill, which he usually did when it rained, always claiming this one ice-cream coin that Jack had bought Les back in August as the reason it was his turn to pay.

Jack decided that he would walk Les and Dave home, even though it was just about as cold outside as hell was hot, and there was a hole in his left boot that let the water seep in. When it came right down to it there weren't many people that he enjoyed being around more than Dave, even if Dave could be kind of annoying at times.

"We have to make plans," David said, once they'd reached his door.

"Friday night at Medda's. How about nine o'clock?"

"Will you actually be there, since you're the one choosing when this time?"

"Wouldn't dream of missing it."

"You always say that."

David turned to open the door, but it opened for him about a split second before his hand touched the knob, and Sarah came flying out and threw her arms around both Dave and Les. Jack didn't see much of her face before she'd buried it in Dave's shoulder, but he could tell she was crying. David couldn't know what was wrong, but he embraced her even as Les, looking as terrified as Jack had ever seen him, tried to squirm away.

A few feet away Jack could see Esther sitting white faced and tight-lipped on the couch, as still as if she'd been made of stone. Jack could only think that whatever had befallen the family, it must've been the worst thing humanly possible to make her look like that.

Part of Jack told him that he'd better go, that it wasn't his place to intrude, but another part of him said he'd be a bastard if he left without at least finding out what was wrong and making sure that David and Les were okay.

He stepped hesitantly into the room that made up the entirety of the Jacob's house, and made his way over to where Ester was sitting, never mind the feeling that he simply wasn't supposed to be there.

"There anything I can do?" He asked softly.

"No, Jack dear, I'm afraid not. It's…"

Esther swallowed hard, and looked down at her lap, unable to continue. It didn't matter. He could hear Sarah telling David everything in broken whispers. _Should have never gone back to the factory. Much worse than before. Nothing to be done. So much blood._

Les came running over, but bypassed Jack and went straight for his mother. Jack felt almost dizzy with this new knowledge. He wanted to shout something or shake someone, but he swallowed down this urge, because he had no right to it. It wasn't as though _his_ father was the one lying dead somewhere.

David was the only one not crying. He looked pale, and suddenly just ridiculously young, but he was holding on to Sarah and he wasn't crying. He wasn't asking questions either, which was something new for the guy that the others called the Walking Mouth.

Jack stopped to run his hand down David's arm, just for a second before he went out the door. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of what, and David looked away as soon as Jack touched him.

Jack needed to get out. He just _needed_ to get out and away, and so he did, bolting straight out into the rainy dark night.

**,:'.';**

**And that's all for chapter one. More on the way!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah had stopped crying for some time before David thought release her. It wasn't even a matter of wanting to be close to her or to comfort her – it was just remembering that his arms were something under his control that he could move if he wanted to that was the hard part. Finally, though, he gave her one more quick squeeze and then let her go.

Les was curled up in their mother's lap, his head buried against her shoulder as she rocked him as though he were an infant. Wordlessly David took a seat on one side of them, while Sarah sat down on the other. David reached out to stroke Les's hair, but his mother took hold of his hand, which was shaking.

"What happened?" David asked, when at last he found his voice. "When?"

"It was his tie," Sarah explained. "It got caught in one of the machines."

"What time?" David asked again.

"Mama and I got the news at five. We went to identify the body. It…" As Sarah spoke her eyes never once left her hands, which were folded neatly on her lap. David would have thought her perfectly composed, except for the shudder that went through her and expressed better than the most eloquent words just what the body had been like.

"You knew where I was. Why didn't you come to get Les and me? It… it's past eight. You've known for _hours_ while we were sitting around stuffing our faces."

"David…" There was a note of warning in his mother's voice. David didn't answer for a long time. He could feel his mother stroking his hand with her own smoother, smaller one. He tried to think back to the last conversation he'd had with his father, tried to hear and visualize it in his mind. It had been at breakfast. Pa had asked if he'd finished his essay for science class, and David had said yes, and that had been it. What a sorry excuse for a final conversation.

Eventually his mother took her hand away. She'd started crying again. David couldn't remember ever seeing her cry before.

He stood up abruptly, trying to ignore how strange his legs felt, how strange every part of him felt for that matter. The apartment was too small, hardly big enough for five people, and not big enough that there was a place to get away if you needed to, and David desperately needed to right now. He went to the window, intent on going out to sit on the fire-escape as he had so many times before, wanting so badly the satisfaction of slamming that window shut and just being away, but he couldn't do it. He leaned his forehead on the glass, which was cool from the air outside, and wondered what he was going to do.

;.;.'

Jack didn't know what to do. If it weren't for all the ice he'd have run all the way to the lodging house. Running always felt right, like his body was made for it… the same with climbing, and fighting, and a lot of things really. That's why he had to get away from the crowded streets of New York and go somewhere open like Santa Fe before he got too old to do it. He needed to get away before he got too involved in everybody else's problems and strikes and goddamn _families_.

Mayer hadn't been Jack's father, but he'd been a good guy, and one of the first adults in Jack's life to tell Jack he was proud of him. It had been after the strike. He'd embraced Jack right along with David and Les, and said he was proud of them.

Jack tried to swallow back the lump in his throat.

"Don't be stupid," he told himself firmly, as if trying to be smart had ever worked for him before. If it had been his own father that had died that day, Jack didn't think he would have cared one way or another. Hell, if old Mr. Sullivan kicked the bucket Jack was pretty sure he'd be relieved. Mayer though… he did care that Mayer was gone. He cared because he liked David, Les and Sarah more than just about any other people in the world, but he also cared because of himself.

It was still early when Jack got to the lodging, but it was already filled to the brim with just about every newsie he knew, and at least one that he'd never seen before. Things got like that in there when nobody wanted to be outside.

In summer the lodging house stunk. In the winter it smelled okay but the nights were always filled with the sound coughing and pretty much all of the little boys and even some of the older ones had to sleep two to a bed to make up for the extra crowds.

A lot of people greeted Jack when he came in, but Jack didn't say anything. He just grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the corner where Racetrack was running his poker game.

That's around the time that the room started to go… not quiet precisely, but _quieter_ at least. Jack could feel more than a few eyes on him as well. It was uncanny how much the other boys were attuned to his moods. It wasn't like they had any reason to be, especially when it had nothing to do with them.

"Why the glum mug, Cowboy?" Race asked after the round was over and he'd taken account of his winnings.

"Game's got bum odds. If you stuck to this and ditched Sheepshead you'd be rich in no time."

"Yeah, rich off our money," said Mush, who had the distinction of being one of the worst poker players in the lodging house.

"Not off yours. You never bet more 'an a cent," Race pointed out. "Not off Jacky boy tonight neither."

"What you gettin' at Race?"

"I'm jus' saying something's up. You look like you wouldn't crack a smile even if you had a perfect hand."

"Then deal me in so I can win this game."

"It's something to do with Dave, right Jack?" This time it was Blink that spoke, and Jack let out something like a laugh, though it wasn't exactly happy sounding.

"Your powers of deduction is scarin' me," Jack answered. Race still hadn't dealt him his cards, so Jack decided this wasn't going to be a poker night for him. He wasn't about to go outside to walk around again, so it looked like he would be going to bed, even if he wasn't so tired.

Only that plan didn't go so good either, because as soon as Jack finished climbing up the ladder to his bunk and lying down, Crutchy came hobbling up.

"What's the matter with Dave?" He whispered, and for some reason whenever Crutchy asked a question he did it so earnestly that Jack had to answer. Probably the other guys had planned the whole thing, but it was too late now.

"Dad got into another accident at the factory."

"That mean he'll be selling with us again?" Asked Crutchy, who seemed to like the prospect.

"Could be. His dad didn't make it."

"Oh." Crutchy's face fell. "He takin' it okay?"

"Well enough," Jack said, even though he didn't know how David was taking it. He wondered what his friend was doing now. "Sarah was cryin' "

"Didja kiss it better?" This comment, from Snipeshooter, earned him a pillow in the head from Jack and dirty looks from more than a few other newsies.

"If we was rich we could pool our money together and buy him flowers," said Boots from where he sat perched on his bed.

Nobody answered that idea right away, though Jack thought he heard somebody in the lodging call out "What is he, your sweetheart?" which really made Jack wish that he had another pillow to throw. Another boy pointed out that if they were rich they wouldn't have to pool their money together, which was a fair enough point.

"Why'd we wanna buy him flowers anyway?" Jack asked, sitting up. "What are a bunch of dumb flowers gonna do?"

Boots shrugged. "Guess that's just what you're supposed to do when somebody up and dies like that."

"David doesn't want any flowers," Jack said, and that was the end of it. For better or worse, when he made a statement like that, the other boys listened.


	3. Chapter 3

Even before opening his eyes David could feel Les curled up like a puppy beside him. It was both familiar and strange. When Les was really little, like six or seven, he'd been prone to nightmares and often slept beside David, but it'd been years since that happened. At first David didn't care about the reason, because sleeping was warm and nice, and Les wasn't interrupting it at least. Then David suddenly bolted upward, as the events from night before came back to him with full force.

The room was bright with sunlight, which meant that it had to be late. Usually being on time for school meant getting up while it was still dark. What day was it? Thursday. It was Thursday. So that meant he'd be skipping school today, which was just as well, because he didn't think he could concentrate on the teachers' lectures, and he was afraid he'd be able to concentrate all too keenly on the odd looks that some of the other students gave him, and the way they claimed he didn't "belong" there.

He got up and went to the window. The ice hadn't melted. It had coated everything and hung from signs and awnings in glistening icicles. When David looked outside he didn't see New York. He saw some better, brighter place that he hadn't known existed – the kind of place that he could maybe learn to love the way that Jack loved Santa Fe.

Sarah rose from where she'd been sitting and wrapped her arms around him silently.

"I think it's God's way of comforting us," she whispered, and the illusion ended.

David took a deep breath. The sky was bright blue, but he could imagine how cold it must be outside, the kind of cold that froze the breath in your lungs and stung when the wind blew. It was just weather, and bad weather at that. God had nothing to do with it. He was ready to tell Sarah as much, but then Les sat up in bed. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped, a frown appearing on his young face.

"Come here," David whispered. "Look outside."

Les did, and his jaw dropped.

David could hear his mother making breakfast in the kitchen. Without a word Sarah left his side to go help set the table.

"I'll take you out in it later," David promised, before following Sarah. He watched as she silently put out five plates, five forks, and five knives. Just as silently he put away the fifth place setting, wishing that she wouldn't look at him as though he had shouted at her when he'd done no such thing.

None of them talked at breakfast, and David found that he didn't have any appetite. His stomach hurt. He took a few bites of his toast because he could feel his mother looking at him, and then gave up when he saw that nobody else was eating much either.

As their food got cold David's mother explained to them that they would have a lot of work to do that day in terms of preparing the funereal. Her voice sounded firm to David – meticulously, _painstakingly_ so – but her eyes were moist. It was decided that Sarah would stay home with Les, while David went out with his mother to help. They left as soon as the breakfast dishes had been cleared away.

It wasn't quite as much of a slippery mess outside as David had feared. Somebody had come and put salt on the most traveled streets and sidewalks during the night, and he could walk if he was careful. Still, many shops and businesses were closed due to the weather, and it was eerily quiet. David jammed his hands in his pockets, already shivering after only being outside for five minutes.

He stopped walking when his mother lightly touched his arm.

"Perhaps I was wrong not to find you when we heard the news yesterday," his mother said.

"You were," David said, too quickly. "I mean… It's okay. It's fine. I guess I can understand why you didn't. I wish you had, but I get it."

"Do you? Why do you think I let you stay out with Jack?"

"Because you didn't think I could handle it. You thought I'd fall apart the moment I knew, and that I wouldn't be able to look at him… at his body."

Sighing, his mother reached up to cup his cheek. David looked down at the sidewalk, at the ice and salt and the places where footprints had already marred the pristine whiteness.

"You're wrong." She let her hand fall. "Wake up and use your brain David. Do you really think I have so little faith in you?"

"I shouldn't have been out enjoying myself while you and Sarah were looking at Pa's body."

"You were enjoying yourself. That's just it. You were being a kid. You're not going to get to do that again except maybe here and there in short bursts. I was only thirteen when your grandma died, and I don't think I ever was much of a child after that. And David, that was without money problems."

David could feel a miserable flush rising in his cheeks, and he hated it. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. Just step up to the task like I know you will, and know that your Pa would be proud of you."

Wanting to say something profound and meaningful, yet too overcome to speak, David simply nodded. His mother was looking at him as though waiting for something.

"Will… will the funereal home be open today in this weather?" He asked.

"It better be," his mother said. "Birth and death. Those are two things that can't be held off on account of any storm. Let's go."

'.;.;.;,'

Jack was pretty sure that nobody would want to buy papes that morning. In fact, hardly anybody was even outside, and those that were either had crucial business or just wanted to ogle the pretty scenery.

It didn't help that the headline was "New York Prepares for Ice-storm of Epic Proportions" seeing the ice storm was already over and all, and everybody could know with their own eyes what the preparations had been and how they'd worked.

"Tax-payer Dollars Used to Prepare for Ice-storm!" Jack called out, when he walked through the business district. He only met two people, but one of them bought a pape.

When he gave up and went to Central Park later he changed the headline to, "Icestorms are Romantic!" which sounded pretty stupid to his ears, but seemed to appeal to the kinds of ladies and young couples who had been attracted out of their nice warm homes by the unbeatable allure of sparkly trees. At one point he came across a big group of girls about his age who pushed their friend towards him giggling and blushing as she paid for her paper. That turned out to be the most lucrative part of the day, as a bit of sweet-talking and a wink or two convinced the other nine to purchase papers of their own. As he was walking away one of the girls dashed up to him and handed him a bunch of oranges in a brown paper sack, which made Jack feel especially complete in his success. He didn't know if the doll was in love with him, felt sorry for him, or both, but neither flirting nor begging were things he was completely above, not if it meant he got to eat. Besides, he figured the oranges cost more than he had half a chance of making that day.

He'd gotten through all he'd bought for the morning edition by noon, which was good, because the sky was darkening like it would snow or rain again. Jack hoped that it didn't rain. The afternoon edition would be a wash-out if it did.

The plan that he'd made that morning was to sell his morning papers and then stop by the Jacobs' place to see if they needed anything, but it dawned on him now that there wasn't much he'd be able to give, and they were all pretty aware of that. He didn't even want to go at all. He kept thinking about how happy Les had been at dinner the night before and worrying that if he looked at him now he'd see a different kid. Sure, there were a lot of Newsies around Les's age or younger, but they were all pretty worldly, and Les just wasn't. Maybe it was cowardly of Jack, but he didn't think that he ever wanted to meet a Les that knew that life was a crapshoot, especially when Les and his siblings were one of the few things that ever convinced Jack that it wasn't.

He went to the Jacobs' home anyway, and if he was walking a bit slower than he did on a normal day the ice on the roads was as good an explanation as any. He felt like a jerk for it, but it wasn't Les or Sarah that propelled him forward, and it certainly wasn't an excess of saintly goodness on his part. It was just that he thought he'd go out of his mind if he didn't see David. David wasn't innocent like Les. There was plenty he didn't know and even more that he hadn't seen, but he was the type where everything he did know he analyzed to death until he figured out what was wrong with it as well as what was right. For everything that David didn't understand (and there were plenty of that too…) there was something else that he understood so totally that it took Jack's breath away. Wondering just how David would understand his loss had kept Jack awake most of the night.

Unfortunately David wasn't there when Jack finally knocked on his window. Just Les and Sarah, who let him in.

"You guys holdin' up alright?" Jack asked. He could feel the salt clinging to the bottom of his shoes crunch as he entered the room, and for once wished he'd just used the door.

"We're doing our best," Sarah said. She looked down at her feet. A few months ago they'd decided that she couldn't be his girl any more. It had been a dumb thing to start in the first place, since she knew that she couldn't marry him, and Jack had always sort of known that he didn't want to marry her, and she wasn't the kind that was ever going to really be with more than one boy. Things hadn't been too awkward between them since then, but then they also hadn't been alone.

"Look, Sarah, you and I… We's on good terms, right?"

This won a bit of a smile from her. Sarah's way of smiling always made her seem like she was deeply amused by something he'd said, and Jack could never quite figure out what.

"Yes. We're on good terms."

"Great, so if you need something you can tell me…"

"Don't worry. I will. You're here to see Dave?"

Jack nodded.

"He's out with Mama."

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know, to be completely honest, and that scares me. Usually it's easy to tell what he's feeling. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Of course you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"If you do want to do something maybe you can keep an eye on him for me."

'.;.;.;,'

Jack was already gone by the time David and his mother got home. He'd waited almost two hours, but in the end he had a job to do. Sarah met them at the door. Both of them looked grim, but not much else. She supposed that Mama looked old, which was something she'd hardly ever looked before.

"Jack was here while you were gone," she said.

"He was?"

Sarah didn't know why David sounded so surprised. She'd known, absolutely known beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jack would come that day.

"He wanted me to give you these," she said, handing him over a brown paper parcel. David opened it up carefully and looked inside. It was full of oranges.

"It's like him," Sarah said. "Anybody else would send flowers, but he sends food."

"I wonder how he even got these," David said. He was silent for some time, but silent in the way that Sarah knew meant he had a lot of things to say. He glanced at his mother, and then started. "You and Les should sit down at the table. We need to have a family meeting. There are so many things to talk about that I don't know where to begin, and none of them are good."


	4. Chapter 4

David sat down at the table with Sarah across from him and Les and his mom on either side. Sarah looked calm and expectant, and David felt sure she would stand by him to help their family in any way possible. Les fidgeted, his eyes locked on the table as he traced the grain of the wood with his finger. David tried to look every bit as together as Sarah did, and mostly succeeded. He had Jack's oranges on his lap, and if he was gripping the bag a bit too tightly, nobody could see his hands beneath the table anyway.

It had been a long day, but then David had expected it to be. He'd known that he'd see his father's body and braced himself for it, and even if it had been worse than he'd expected, it hadn't been _that_ much worse. Maybe he just had a morbid imagination, but the details his mind had conjured up from the moment Sarah had told him about Pa being caught in a machine had been more or less accurate. He wondered if the other, less visible details he'd come up with were true too, if he was right about the blinding fear and pain that must have compromised Mayer Jacobs' last moments before he'd been reduced to mangled flesh that had to be cleaned out of the machines. It wasn't a good thought, but David assumed it was a normal one, and while he certainly _wanted_ to get it out of his mind, it didn't surprise him that he couldn't.

There had been other things that day that _had_ caught him off-guard, and unfortunately those were the things that needed to be discussed now.

"It's at least ten dollars for the funereal," David started, thinking the blunt approach best. Les winced, and David wished that his little brother didn't have to be there listening to this. "That's not so bad, but the coffin costs nearly sixty, and it's another fifty to bury him."

"But that's a hundred and twenty dollars!" Les blurted out, figuring out this sum with a speed that shocked David, who had spent many an evening helping him labor over his math homework.

"We have about thirty saved up, and the director at the morgue said he'd give us the rest on credit."

"What were the terms?" Sarah asked, looking as though she expected the worst.

"Not as bad as they could be, considering we didn't have any other options. We can give him ten dollars a week until it's paid off."

"How can they expect anybody to pay so much?"

David shrugged, trying to look casual when all he felt was helpless. He wished he was the sort of person who punched other people in the face, because the morgue director, for all of his placating words, certainly deserved it.

"Can we go on strike again?" Suggested Les with such wounded innocence that David bit back the sarcastic comment he wanted to make about not even Jack being able to rouse the dead of Manhattan to their cause. David could just imagine them shambling down the roads in their various states of decay holding up painted "strike" signs, only imagining it made him feel kind of sick.

"There's nobody to go on strike with," David said softly instead. "Besides, we're not workers. We don't have anything they want other than our money, and I suppose they'll get it one way or another."

"Not if we don't have it," Les pointed out.

"We have to have it. There's food and rent to think of too."

"I can find a job," Sarah said quickly. "At one of the factories. I know a couple that are always hiring."

David nodded. The factories, at least the kind that were always hiring, weren't good places, but he couldn't see any other way. Even if factories were what had gotten them into this mess, there just wasn't much else to do.

"I can sell papes with the other newsies," Les piped up.

Sarah nodded. She opened her mouth, and closed it, pursing her lips as if she had something to say, but didn't want to.

"What is it?" David asked.

"Les can sell papers, but you shouldn't. You should search for factory work with me. The pay is higher and more certain. There are even raises if you work long enough."

David looked down at the brown paper bag in his lap. He'd had the same idea, of course he had, and he'd considered it.

"David and I have already spoken about this," his mother said. "We'll need a daily income if we're going to eat…"

"Les isn't going to sell," David explained. "It was Pa's dream to see one of us get through school, and it would break his heart to know that was all over. I _will_ get a factory job, or any kind of steady job that I can get, but we're going to be living from day to day until our debts are paid and we've got a few paychecks under our belt. Besides, tuition for primary school is cheap. Did you know Pa also owed the school money for my tuition this semester? There's no way you and I could afford to continue, but Les can."

"But I don't want to!" Les exclaimed. "If somebody is going to finish school it should be you or Sarah. Sarah only has half a year. I'm going to be there practically _forever_."

"Les…" there was a note of warning in Sarah's voice, and David thought he heard a bit of sadness in it as well. He felt sad for her. She was supposed to graduate and become a teacher, not to ruin her hands and lungs in some dingy factory.

"I'm a better newsie than David is anyway," Les pointed out, not about to be silenced. "If I sell with Jack we'll make heaps of money. I want to help the family too."

"Then help it out by having a future," David said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "One of us has to."

David saw his mother put her head in her hands, and instantly wished he hadn't said it. She had to have known it was true though. He'd loved being a newsie that summer for the easy camaraderie that had come with it, but he'd always kind of feared that the guys he'd come to see as his friends wouldn't amount to much when all was said and done. It wasn't that the newsies were stupid or worthless; in his estimation every one of them was worth about ten times as much as any of the students at his school, but the cards were stacked against them growing up to _be_ anything... in some cases they were stacked against them even growing up, period.

Les seemed about ready to argue, but then he looked over at his mother, and an instant later he was copying her posture as if it was contagious. David rose abruptly. The bag and the oranges fell to the floor, and he just left them there, even though he wanted to pick them up. He wanted to apologize too. He hadn't lied or done anything wrong, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he had.

He put his hands on his mother's shoulders as gently as he could, but there was nothing he could say. He just needed to get out for a while.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he whispered, before turning to leave.

**,:'.';**

It was Friday night. It was nine o'clock. Jack was standing outside of Medda's just like he'd promised he would be, but for once it was David who didn't show. He waited and paced in the cold for about forty minutes until he heard the music start up inside, which started him debating whether or not he should go to Dave's house for the second time that day. Maybe he had something important to do, or just didn't want to see him. Maybe he didn't even want to see anybody. It was hard to say. All that Jack knew was that it wasn't like David to break an appointment, and he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until he figured out why, so after five more minutes of waiting Jack set out to do just that.

An hour later and Jack had built up an impressive list David-free locations around his part of the city. David wasn't at his home, a fact which Jack tried to learn inconspicuously by climbing up the fire escape and peeking in the window, only to have Sarah catch him in the act. He also wasn't at Tibby's or any of the streets or alleyways that Jack searched down. He finally returned to the theatre to see if David had arrived and been waiting for him, but the idea of David Jacobs being _late_ for an appointment was almost more absurd than the idea of him missing that appointment completely.

Finally, torn between going back to the Jacobs' house for a third time to see if Dave had come home and going back to the lodging for the night, Jack chose the lodging. It wasn't like he was David's keeper, or like David couldn't figure out the city on his own. He still wished he knew where he'd disappeared to, though.

By the time Jack got back to the lodging it was nearly eleven at night, and Jack was in a thoroughly bad mood. He told himself that it was because he'd wasted so much time, not because he was worried, but he knew that was a lie the minute he opened the door bumped into Dave, who was apparently on his way out. He wondered when he'd gotten to the point where the idea of not being able to find David when he wanted to made him feel kind of panicky… not that he ever had or ever would actually _panic_, but the feeling was there, and so was the relief that filled him when the search was over.

"I was looking for you," David said immediately, which earned him an incredulous look from Jack. "What?" He asked.

"You was looking for me?"

"Yeah… well, I came here to see you at least, but you were out."

Jack didn't say anything right away. David just stood there with his hands in his pockets looking oblivious. If he'd changed any in the last day Jack couldn't see it, but it wasn't as though he expected David to run around sobbing and pulling out his hair out or whatever aggrieved people were supposed to do. He wasn't even doing anything out of the ordinary, other than showing up in completely the wrong spot, which was pretty bad, come to think of it.

"It's late," Jack said with a shrug. "Your ma will be wondering where you are."

"I guess so," Dave agreed. "Are you going in to bed?"

"You want me to?"

"If you want to you can," was all that David said, which was just about the most useless answer he could have given. It made Jack want to shake him, but somehow he ended up pulling him into a hug instead.

"I'm doing okay, actually," David said as Jack released him, answering the question Jack would've asked before it even had time to leave his mouth.

"You sure 'bout that?" Asked Jack, to which David nodded, a bit too quickly. Jack wondered how many times he'd have to ask before he got a different answer, and then decided to just leave it. He wasn't anybody's shrink, even if that was the game Sarah wanted him to play. Besides, if he were in the same situation, Jack was damn sure he wouldn't want somebody bugging him about it at every turn.

"Look, you were right about it being late. I'll be… um … carrying the banner with you tomorrow."

"That's good Davey," Jack replied, but the word 'good' came out sounding a whole lot less certain than it should've, so Jack gave David a wide smile. "It'll be real good. I ain't got no selling partner other than you."

"See you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

Jack stood there waiting for a minute or two after David started his walk home, turned to go back into the lodging house, then half a second later changed his mind and sprinted impulsively after him. It didn't take him that long to catch up to his friend, who was moving cautiously through the patches of ice. Jack probably should have been moving cautiously as well, considering he'd only meant to grab David by the shoulder and instead ended up sliding into him, hard. David in turn stumbled but managed to grab onto a lamppost rather than toppling onto the icy ground. Jack wasn't quite as lucky. He got up pretty quickly, but that didn't change the fact that he spent a couple of seconds on his hands and knees on the ice first.

"Were you trying to get us both killed?" Dave asked as Jack tried to brush the salt and dust off of his pants.

"Nah. If I was tryin' to hurt you I'd have punched you or something." To demonstrate Jack lifted a fist (which, come to think of it, he was pretty sure was bleeding) into the air. "By the way, do you got any idea what day it is?"

"Friday," David answered. All of a sudden his eyes widened the way that they did when something completely caught him off guard. "Friday! Jack, today is Friday and I was supposed to…"

"Yeah."

David sighed.

"I forgot."

"No kidding."

"I'm an idiot. I'm sorry."

"I'll get over it. Just figured I'd check if you'd forgotten anything else. The way home? Your name? How 'bout your sister's?"

"Let's see…" David pointed in the direction of the lodging house. "Home is over that way, my name is Theodore Roosevelt, and my sister is a lovely lady by the name of Agnes. Anything else?"

Jack smiled, feeling at ease for the first time that day. If David was joking then everything had to be okay.

"Not a thing. It's just like I thought. I better take you back. You ain't gonna to make it two steps otherwise."

Jack didn't say anything else, but slung an arm over David's shoulder, steering them both in the direction of his home.


	5. Chapter 5

t

Sarah's hushed voiced trailed off when she heard the soft click of a key turning in the front door. Her mother put down her needlework and Les, who had finally been close to falling asleep, threw off his blankets and jumped to his feet. Sarah sighed, and glanced about for a suitable bookmark, for she'd been reading aloud from David's old copy of Oliver Twist and he hated it when she just folded page corners as she did with her own books.

"You needn't have stayed out so late. Mother was worried sick, and I'm sure we'll _all_ regret it tomorrow," Sarah said, and not seeing any convenient paper that wasn't one of her mother's sewing orders she just creased the page, not without a certain amount of relish. When she looked up Jack was standing in the doorway beside David, and he already had Les to his side. More annoyingly, her mother, far from backing her up, was just releasing David from a hug.

"Did you go Medda's like you said?" Les asked, at which David looked unaccountably abashed. Sarah wondered why, and if he'd gotten into any trouble. It wouldn't be like him to do so, but life had twisted and changed so much in the last few days that Sarah couldn't see how they would avoid changing with it.

"It was a pretty good show," Jack said, ruffling Les's hair. "You woulda liked it. We'll bring you along next time. Sorry for keeping him out all night, by the way."

"We didn't go to see the show. I was over at the lodging house talking with Boots mostly. He said to give you these… well, actually, he gave them to me, but I thought you'd like them."

David rummaged in his pocket and handed Les a couple of marbles, and Sarah forgot some of her anger in a moment of surprise. She'd only been in the lodging house once, and been so nervous at the idea of being seen there that she'd barely stayed a minute, but she knew what the place was like and how little those boys had. She hoped that David wouldn't continue to work as a Newsie for long, but she could hardly fault him for choosing the newsies above all others to be his friends. Sarah stood up.

"Well, come in," Sarah said, the edge already gone from her voice. "You're letting in all the cold air standing in the doorway like that."

"Never mind," her mother added. "Come inside. Are you hungry?"

Jack and David both shook their heads, though Sarah couldn't see how neither of them were. As far as she knew David hadn't had anything since breakfast.

Les, never one to do things in halves bolted straight inside and back to his blankets, for it was a cold night, even if that fact seemed to have escaped David almost as much as it always escaped Jack. David took a step or two inside, and glanced back when he saw that his friend was still standing in the door. He caught Jack's eye and inclined his head towards the kitchen, and a second later Jack was following him there. It was that sort of silent communication that they'd perfected that had driven Sarah half mad back when she'd been "Jack's girl", but which she could only wonder at now. After all, David wasn't exactly the intuitive type and Jack was the farthest thing from the obedient type that Sarah could imagine, but a second later and they were both standing next to the sink. She watched as David wet a clean dish cloth and told Jack to put it on his hand, and Jack actually listened to him, even if he looked about ready to laugh while doing so.

"You'll get an infection otherwise," David explained, as though Jack had not left a thousand other cuts and scrapes unattended in his time and never come out any worse for it. Maybe he just wanted to keep Jack there longer, and if that was the case, Sarah couldn't blame him. After all, she'd had plenty of experiences in trying to keep Jack in one place for more than an hour or so. Funny how David was so much better at it than she had been.

Les was watching the two of them keenly from his nest of blankets, and Sarah quickly reopened the book when she realized she was watching them too. Jack was interesting, but it wouldn't do to watch him too much. She wished he would go home so she could go to bed. It was nearly three in the morning, after all, and she did have… well, no school tomorrow or ever again, but she had a job search to begin, and that was important.

Over the edge of the pages she was affecting to read, Sarah could see that Les had put the marbles on the nightstand next to his bed. The cracks and chips in them glittered in the light of the oil lamp. Sarah made up her mind and put the book back down before standing up quickly.

In the kitchen David was rinsing out the towel while Jack watched him with an expression that she just couldn't read.

"You should just stay here tonight," Sarah announced, knowing he'd say no if she phrased it as a question.

"It's okay. I don't need ya to read to me till I fall asleep. You got your own stuff to worry 'bout, right?"

Sarah folded her arms. "There's no sense in going back to the lodging. You'll just have to get right out of bed and sell papers as soon as you open your eyes. Besides, I'm guessing you spent half your night searching for a certain little brother of mine, so…"

"So you really had better stay, because I plan on giving him the scolding of a lifetime the minute you walk out the door," Her mother interrupted, giving David a light smack on the shoulder.

"I wouldn't wanna intrude or nothing…" Jack tried in the more differential tone he always used with Sarah's mother.

"You won't be," Sarah assured him quickly. "You're a part of this family, and that's important right now."

Jack took a deep breath and looked around the room. Sarah swallowed, and wished that her last words didn't weigh so heavily. If anything she'd probably just scared Jack off, if he had any idea what being a Jacobs could entail at this point in time.

"What you think Dave?"

"You can have my bed. I'll sleep with Les. It'll be better for your hand. You know, to keep it clean, so it doesn't get invaded by bacteria and fall off." David half smiled as he said this, but instead of looking at Jack, he kept his eyes trained on the floor.

"Right, got it." Jack gave David a pat on the shoulder before heading over to sit down on his bed. No point in waiting around once the decision was made. Sarah guessed he would be fast asleep in about fifteen seconds once he lied down.

David grabbed a bundle of nightclothes from the wardrobe, and disappeared into the bathroom for a minute. Jack didn't have any nightclothes, and would be too tall for David's. Long ago, if less than two days could be considered half as long a time as they felt like, Sarah might have offered him her father's nightshirt. As things were all he had to do was remove his cowboy hat and shoes. The socks underneath were so ragged with holes that he needn't have bothered to wear any, and they sort of smelled too, though Sarah would have never dreamed of saying so. He probably noticed, because he stared down at his feet for a split second before pulling the blanket up over himself and lying down on the bed. If he was still awake by the time her mother went over to adjust his blankets, he didn't show it.

A second later and David took his place in bed next to Les, who was also sleeping. He adjusted Les a bit so that he was lying down instead of huddling upright against the wall, but made no attempt to separate him from any of the four or so blankets he'd been hording. Sarah only had two blankets, but she tossed one in David's direction. Their mother went around the house, blowing out all of the oil lamps, until everything was dark.

Sarah wasn't sure how long she'd been sleeping when she heard Les whisper: "David, are you awake?". It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours.

"No," was David's response, mumbled into his pillow.

"Are too." For a minute, Les was silent, and Sarah hoped he'd gone back to sleep. No such luck.

"David," Les whispered again, "Will you still take me with you to the lodging house sometimes?"

"Alright."

"Do you miss Pa?"

David sighed. "Yeah. Of course I do. Go back to sleep."

_Notes: Thanks so much for the people who have read and reviewed this story so far! If you've made it to this chapter, why not leave a note? I'd love to know that I'm not writing into a void. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Fine job I've done of getting away_ was the first thought that came to Jack's mind when he was awakened not by a shout or a punch in the back from Kloppman, but a light touch on the shoulder and the softest of whispers from Esther Jacobs. Weirdly, the unfamiliarity of it all had him awake and alert faster than if there had been an earthquake. He'd have to tell old Klopp to try it on the other boys sometime, just to see how quickly messing with their heads like that would get them out of bed and selling papes.

Everything just felt kind of out of sorts. The bed he'd slept in had been so comfortable that he'd been unable to get used to the sensation, and lost sleep as a result. Now everything was eerily quiet, and the air was thick with the smell of eggs and coffee. It should have been nice, and it _was _nice, but it also reminded him of that one time he'd drank way too much and woken up backstage at some theatre in Queens.

"I thought I'd get you up before the other two to give you the first shot at the bathroom," Mrs. Jacobs explained with a smile as if it were some great secret. It wasn't like he had much to do as far as getting ready for work went anyway, seeing as he'd slept in the same clothes he was planning to wear. He splashed some cold water on his face, and ran a comb that looked to be Sarah's through his hair, but that was pretty much all he could do. He didn't even know where they kept the razors.

When he came back out David was sitting on the edge of the bed in his long johns rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his curly hair sticking out this way and that, and things seemed more normal. It was the same house he always went to, just in a different light. Still, it would be better if they were back at the lodging and Jack had somehow convinced David to stay the night there; then he'd tease him about looking like a mad scientist and laugh at how overwhelmed he'd be at the jostle of forty boys trying to make use of four sinks, five showers, and an old water pump.

Jack waited to till David stood up, then ducked out the window to have a smoke on the fire-escape. It definitely didn't feel warm outside, but Jack guessed that it must be warmer, because the icicles were dripping. Oh well. Goodbye fairyland, hello muddy slop, same old business as always. Even so, New York was kind of nice at this time of the morning, with the birds singing and the sun sitting rosily in the sky. It just wasn't often that he had enough idle time to sit and take it in. If he ever got to Santa Fe he'd be up herding horses or whatever at this time every morning, but that daydream wasn't looming so close had it been in the first rush of shock two days ago.

"Hi."

Jack turned around when he heard Les's voice. He wondered how long the little guy had been standing there.

"Hey kid. You ready to go out and sell with me?"

"Can I?" Les asked, his face lighting up a lot more than it should have . "David said no."

"Right," Jack said quickly. Normally this would be his cue to tell Les that David was just being a tight-ass and of course he could come sell, but it didn't seem like a good idea all things considered. "He got a reason for that?"

"School," Les said sullenly.

"You're gonna know all kinds of things I don't pretty soon," Jack said, trying for cheerful.

"They made us start Latin this semester. Do you know any Latin?"

"Not a lick."

"That's 'cause nobody speaks it."

"Yeah, well I know somebody who speaks Italian…"

"Race!"

"Yep, but I don't know any of that 'cept for a few curses. So maybe you can tell your teacher you're sick of Latin and wanna learn Italian or Swedish or something instead."

"We have to learn Latin so we can read about Odysseus, but I already know about him, 'cause David told me."

"He some kind of big wig?"

Les shrugged. He looked all small and sad standing there, and Jack hated it.

"Hey Jack, can I have one of those?" Les gestured to the near burnt out cigarette he was holding in his hand.

"Since when did you take up smoking?" Jack asked, and would have laughed if Les hadn't looked so dead serious.

"You do it when you're nervous, right? Or when you want to think but everything gets messed up."

"School make you nervous Les?"

"No. It isn't school."

Jack sighed, reached into his pocket for his pack of cigs, and handed Les one. He figured he'd already surpassed his daily quota of good judgment by not encouraging Les to drop out of primary school, and now he was free and clear to do what he pleased.

"Don't think you'll be getting any more from me, and whatever you do don't tell Dave."

Les nodded and jammed the cigarette in his pocket. David stuck his head out the window just as Jack and Les were shaking hands.

"Hungry?" He asked as naturally as if it had just been any other morning.

"Always am," Jack said, as climbed back inside.

"Me too," said Les, who followed.

:L::l,

It took David all of his concentration to swallow down his eggs and toast. One minute he would feel fine, and the next there would be a jolt of nervousness that went right to his stomach. He'd been flabbergasted at first when he'd seen just how much food Sarah was in the process of making, and then she'd reminded him if she tried to ration the food that they already had in the house, all that would happen is they'd end up with a carton of rotten eggs.

Nobody was talking much, so between bites David scribbled down a few words in an old notebook he'd dug up while Jack and Les were outside. It was nothing important, a to-do list, but Jack asked to look at it almost as soon as they were outside. David handed it over to him wordlessly.

"Pick up pay at factory. Try for tuition refund. Set time and date," Jack read out. "Trying out to be the new headline writer for the World, huh Dave?"

"Do you think my pitches are any good?"

"Try 'Time and Date Set for Nude Bank Robbery' and we might be in business."

David smiled quickly. It was nice to be able to do that. He felt a bit lighter now that he was outdoors. He considered telling Jack that the date was for the funereal, but there would be a chance for that once the date was set, and Jack had to know anyway.

"Come on, buck up Davey, you're okay, right?" Jack said, which made David wonder what kind of look had crossed his face.

"Of course. I never said that I wasn't."

"Good. 'Cause you're not a little kid like Les. So, you know, I guess you're ready to handle everything, ain't you?"

David nodded, "People usually do figure out how to handle whatever needs handling."

"Some folks do, but a lot of them don't," Jack answered, and David honestly couldn't tell if he was philosophizing, making conversation, or trying to imply that David wasn't cut out for what life had in store for him. It was the later idea that made David bristle.

"Well, I'm the type that does," David said firmly. Jack flashed him a wide grin, but it seemed more like he was exalting than laughing at him. Either way, they'd reached the distribution center, so David let the subject drop.

OoOo

_Big thanks to shinigami nanoda and Kin-outcast1 for reviewing the last chapter. It was good motivation to get this one written and up more quickly! This story should stasrt getting a bit faster moving and more eventful soon. I hope._


	7. Chapter 7

Selling wasn't anything special or interesting, except in that it had been such a very long time since David had last done it. Routes were different in the winter, Jack explained to him, just as he'd explained so many things to David in that first jubilant week or so after the strike had ended. Jack said in the winter you had to range further to sell the papers, and David wasn't about to question him on that, even if he did half suspect that the near constant state of movement was more to keep from freezing to death than to find new customers.

David wished that it didn't feel like quite such a relief to be spending his time in this way. While the work could be physically tiring, Jack was the easiest person in the world for him to be with. The whole day had a strange far-off quality to it, like a dream that was completely realistic until you looked very very close at the little details and found something morbid and terrible lurking underneath; David just did his best not to look, kept quiet except for when he was shouting headlines, and concentrated on familiar things like Jack's ridiculous headlines full of long words that didn't exist or the way Mush punched them both in the shoulder when they met unexpectedly on their routes.

By the time they were finished he felt liked he'd succeeded. The papers were gone. He had money in his pocket. He'd done half of what he was supposed to do, and the only problem he had in the world was that the second half would be harder than the first.

"You gonna go to school and the factory now?" Jack asked, just as they were about to part ways.

"Yeah."

"Well, make sure they give you what you're due. Punch them in the face if they try to screw you over."

"Right," David said, and would have walked away, but Jack swung in front of him.

"Look, Davey, I'm serious 'bout that."

"So am I," David said, suppressing a sigh at how skeptical Jack looked. "Okay, so I'm probably not going to punch anybody, but I'm not going to let them treat me unfairly either."

Jack nodded. He still looked unconvinced, but David knew that the only way that would change would be by him showing up at work the next morning with stories of his success.

"I'll see you tomorrow," David promised, and then he set off, hoping that he would be able to add something a bit more substantial to the few coins jingling in his pocket. His family needed it.

**;OoOoO;**

The air in the factory was so thick with sawdust that David had to cover his mouth when he walked in, and even that didn't keep him the sneezing. Nobody was talking because nobody was allowed to, and because they would have had to shout to be heard over the roar of saws and the buzz of the conveyer belt. David had been here before. His father had been employed here for as long as he could remember, one tiny speck of humanity in this vast mechanical jungle. He'd made table legs.

Back when he was little, the same age that Les was now, David had been ashamed that his dad worked in such a place as this. He'd tried to imagine grander occupations for the brilliant father who would come home dusty and tired each night, and sit down at the dinner table with him and Sarah and mother and tell them about books, and myths, and governments that rose and fell. His father had been smart, smart enough to help David with his geometry homework and discuss the poetry that Sarah's teachers made her read, smart enough to figure out how to stretch a meager salary him far enough to send three children to school and keep them fed and comfortable. The only stupid thing he'd ever done was remain so loyal for so long to a company that treated him like dirt, and to pin all of his hopes on his sons and daughter escaping that life, instead of hightailing it out of there himself.

And here David was preparing to embark upon the exact same kind of life for himself in what? A few weeks? A month or two? As soon as possible. He wanted to turn and run. Instead he kept walking further and further inside.

"Aren't you Mayer's boy?" said somebody who had just come up behind him. He was a man who looked to be in his mid-forties, with graying hair and a neatly pressed shirt. David had only seen him a handful of times, but he knew that his name was Mr. Perkins, and that he'd been his father's boss.

David nodded, and Mr. Perkins put his arm around David's shoulder, a gesture that seemed far too familiar coming from a man who David barely knew and felt inclined to dislike.

"I imagine you'll want to get his affairs settled," Mr. Perkins said, leading David through the maze of machines and workers, into a room that was small but remarkably clean and bright compared to the rest of the factory. With the door closed David could still hear the din outside, but at least is was quiet enough that the two of them could speak. There was a large wooden desk inside, and Mr. Perkins gestured to the seat across from it, which David took. Mr. Perkins himself did not sit, and it made David wish that he hadn't either.

"Daniel, isn't it?" Perkins asked.

"David."

"Yes, yes, of course. Your father was a good man and an excellent worker. A true asset to the company. We are all so very sorry for your loss."

David nodded, though he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking why, if his father had been such an asset, they'd fired him temporarily to avoid paying him when he'd been injured the summer before. When it came right down to it, that probably was _why_ he'd been an "asset" to the company anyway; he'd been abused and taken it like a sheep.

David swallowed.

"I came to pick up his paycheck."

"Yes, of course."

A few minutes passed while Perkins rummaged through drawers, and finally he handed David a thin brown envelope.

"Shall I see you out?" He asked, but David was already opening the envelope to count out the money inside. That was one thing his father had taught him to always do. There were thirty dollars inside. One week's pay.

"He worked for eight days," David pointed out.

"So he did, but we have very clear policies when it comes to leaving early or arriving late. Perhaps you would like to see a copy of his contract?"

"I'd like to see records of when he signed in and out each day. He was never late for anything," David said, making sure that he looked Perkins in the eye as he spoke. He hoped that he sounded firm. He wanted to shout, but he wouldn't. If he did he'd just sound like a kid who was upset that his dad had died, and he didn't want that.

"I never meant to imply that he wasn't punctual," said Perkins in conciliatory tone, as if David were having a tantrum instead of speaking very reasonably. "He did not, however, finish out his workday on the twelfth of December."

The look that David gave Mr. Perkins just then must have been one of pure hatred, because the man turned away quickly as if a little nervous.

"Time of death, five fifty-five," David said in a low voice that was nearly a snarl. "He was set to leave at six. How long did it take you to clean out his body? Maybe I should be asking for overtime."

"Yes, about the body, the cost of cleaning it out of the machines was…" Mr. Perkin's voice was higher now, and David hoped that meant that he wouldn't have to fight him too hard.

"I guess I'll see his contract after all," David said, standing up. The piece of paper was found and handed to him. He just wished his hands weren't shaking. That was almost worse than the squeak in Mr. Perkin's voice. He couldn't let this man think that he was afraid of him. The worst thing was that he _wasn't_. He wasn't afraid of him in the least. He was just angry, and for some reason that was manifesting itself in _completely _the wrong way, and he was shaking because of it. He scanned the contract looking for something that would help him.

"It says that up to three days' pay can be docked if the employee clocks out before the appointed closing time without the express permission of the employer. He couldn't have clocked out, and I don't see how you could have denied him permission to leave, all things considered."

"Well, it does say up to three days' pay, and given the unfortunate circumstances…" Mr. Perkins reached out to touch his arm, but David jerked away as if burnt.

"Don't talk as if you're being generous to me. You're not being generous. According to the very letter of the contract you have to pay me that money."

"According to the very letter of the contract I don't have to pay you anything. Line seventy-four. Salary will be distributed to _the employee_ on the fifteenth of each month. The last I checked we do not, and never have employed you.

David looked back down at the contract, scanning it once more for anything that would help his case, but the document seemed to have been designed to be singularly unhelpful to anybody but the employer. It spoke of every way in which the employee might be punished for breaking company rules, but had nothing about what sort of help and protection he could expect in return.

Never mind. Maybe he couldn't count on a piece of paper for fairness and justice, but he could find it on his own.

"You owe my father two days' salary," David said. "I'll wait here until I get it."

"If you would like to come back tomorrow, I would of course be happy to discuss your situation with upper management," Mr. Perkins said, but he sounded anything but happy. His voice was every bit as cold as David's own, and David knew very well what the answer would be tomorrow, if he was even allowed back in.

"You can go talk to them now. I'll wait here."

To David's surprise Mr. Perkin's did scuttle out of the room. David wondered what would happen now. Would he be dragged out? Would somebody higher up in the company come in with more false apologies and another explanation of the contract?

Whatever was going to happen, it didn't happen quickly. David had been pacing for what felt like hours before the door to the office opened again. It was Mr. Perkins.

"Mr. Stevenson, in charge of salary and budget, cannot see you before 10:30 this evening," he informed David curtly. "You would do better to return tomorrow. He will not appreciate being kept at work late for your sake."

"I'll stay," David said again. The door closed again with a slam, as if Mr. Perkins could not even be bothered to dignify his stubbornness with a response. David looked at his watch. Seven thirty. He wished that there was some way he could let his mother know where he was.

At a quarter to ten the door opened once more. David turned from where he'd been looking out the window, and saw two police officers and Mr. Perkins standing behind him.

"I haven't done anything illegal," David said quickly, though he knew from seeing how some members of police had behaved during the Newsie strike, he knew that that didn't always matter.

"We're well aware of that son," said the cop standing on the left of Mr. Perkins.

"I only came to pick up my father's salary. He… he died here a few days ago, and they have to pay him for the days that he worked, and then I'll leave. I've been waiting here for hours. My family is at home waiting for me, and I haven't done anything illegal, so you have no reason to be here unless you're going to make him give me what I came for."

"Yes, we know all of that," said the second cop. It was only then that David noticed how singularly grim Mr. Perkins' countenance was, and that several more faces were peering in the door from the dark room outside. The machines had been turned off, so why were there so many people still here?

"These good gentleman informed us that you were being held in here against your will, though Mr. Perkins here insists that this is not the case, and that you were merely waiting until he could go to the bank and retrieve this for you…"

With that Mr. Perkins handed him several dollar bills, all crisp and neatly folded. At first David could only stare at them, bewildered. He didn't even think to count them.

"As you must know, the banks were already closed by the time you arrived this evening," said Mr. Perkins. "And as such this is money from my own wallet."

"He didn't want to give me this," David said, relieved that he sounded steady, because that certainly wasn't how he felt. He'd won. He'd absolutely beyond a shadow of a doubt won, but instead of feeling triumphant he felt more like maybe he was going to burst into tears or get sick or something. He shut his eyes for a moment before going on. "He said it was within his rights to dock my father's pay because he died five minutes before his shift was over, and did so without express permission from the management."

David didn't wait to see what the two police officers would say, but went for the door. They seemed to be more focused on Mr. Perkins than on him anyway, which was exactly how things were supposed to be.

There were about two dozen men and one woman waiting in the doorway for him. They looked tired and dusty, and wore the company's blue shirts and black ties. David recognized about four of them even in the low light, though he didn't know any of them well.

"We're sorry about what happened to your dad," one of the men said.

"Mayer was one of the best and kindest men I ever met," said another.

"He talked about you all the time. He would have done anything for you. You know that, don't you?" said the woman.

It was funny how similar their words were to the ones that Mr. Perkins had said earlier, and how different they were at the same time. David guessed there just wasn't a lot that could be said in this kind of situation. There wasn't a lot that he could say to these people other, except for thank you, which like all words would have been woefully inadequate, if not for the simple fact that he meant it.

**;OoOo;**

Somehow the entire crowd from the factory ended up at David's house, and somehow ten o'clock turned to one o'clock with surprising rapidity. They all had stories about David's father, and as somebody had brilliantly decided to bring along a bottle of whiskey, those stories were told with abandon. Nobody in the Jacobs family drank, except for Les who managed to down a shot while David was looking away, and ended up snoring away in bed not long after. David knew that under normal circumstances his parents would have never allowed such a gathering to take place in their home, but these were hardly normal circumstances, and these men had done everything in their power to help him that day.

Sarah and his mother managed to make up a soup and some bread to feed the crowd, and David contributed his bag of oranges. For his part, he felt too sick to his stomach to even contemplate eating, though he knew that he should have been hungry. He had a splitting headache as well.

At around two thirty he managed to pull Sarah aside.

"I'm going to go sleep at the lodging," he whispered, praying that she would understand. "Don't let mom worry."

To his vast relief, Sarah nodded. He went to unlock the window, and then stopped.

"Did you find a job?" He asked. He couldn't believe he hadn't asked her that the moment he returned home. Sarah smiled.

"Yes. I found a job. I'll tell you everything about it tomorrow."

"Have you signed the contract yet?"

"The contracts are going to be the same no matter where I go, if I'm even offered one. You know that."

David nodded. She was right, even if he wished she wasn't.

"Well, go on out if you're going to go. I'll think of some rousing and hopeful stories to tell the masses."

His hand went to the window again, but then he turned to look at Sarah. She was pale, and had dark circles under his eyes. She would have work tomorrow as well, every bit as early in the morning as he did, at a job that was far less familiar than his own.

"I'll stay and help," he said after a moment. If anything could have made him feel guilty for considering leaving, it was the relief on Sarah's face in that moment.

"Good," she said, and together they turned to face the crowd.

_Notes: And thus ends a very long and David-centric chapter. I very nearly sent him to sleep at the lodging, and had all sorts of great lines planned for Racetrack and Jack, but alas it was not to be. As always, I would love to know what any readers thought about this chapter. _


	8. Chapter 8

It was with no small amount of dismay that Sarah Jacobs glanced at the window, and noticed that the sun was peaking up over the horizon. It was almost five thirty in the morning, which meant she would have to get dressed and ready for work. Their party had dwindled down to two men from her father's factory, herself, and David. She hadn't so much as lay down, let alone changed into her nightclothes or undone her hair from the loose bun she'd tied it in almost twenty-four hours previous. Probably the clothes she was wearing would do just fine for another day, and she wouldn't look out of place in the sea of frazzled, tired workers she was about to enter into.

"We used to talk about walking out, the three of us," one of their guests, Richard, was explaining. Richard was a massive man, with a thick brown beard, and a demeanor that was kind and imposing all at once; If Sarah had happened upon him walking alone and grimy through the streets of the Upper Eastside, she would have crossed to the other end of the road to avoid him, yet seeing him sitting here in the same work uniform that her father had worn every day, she could easily imagine that he had been one of the first to galvanize the other workers to David's defense.

The other man, Pat, let out a loud laugh. Unlike Richard, Pat was short, a good inch or two shorter than David, and had a wiry build aside from his great beer belly. Also, unlike Richard， who had sobered up quickly enough despite all that he'd had to drink, Pat was clearly feeling the effects of one too many shots of whiskey.

"Weren't just the three of us," Pat said. "Wouldn't we all of liked to get out from under Perkins' stupid pug nose."

"Why didn't you?" David asked. He'd changed as the night went on, Sarah noted. At first he'd tried to have as little as he could do with anybody aside from what was polite, and hardly looked at people when he spoke. These two, however, had drawn him in, and he spoke seriously and earnestly now.

"We were looking at the same thing anywhere else we went, you know. Maybe worse. I was born in this country. I can read and write. No reason I'd of settled for a place that didn't even have a contract of employment," said Richard.

"Not much of one," David pointed out. "I mean, if you can read than you have be aware of that. There's nothing in it to help you or the other guys out."

Another laugh from Pat. "The hell there isn't," he said. "Salary is listed there clear as day, and it's what we get, you can bet on that."

David looked dissatisfied, but didn't say anything. Sarah didn't know whether to be relieved by that, or disappointed. She wondered what he would say when she told him about her new job, if he'd be ashamed that she'd settled so low, or protective of her, or simply take it with the awareness that they all did what they must, and that he'd have to resign himself to the same soon enough. His silence gave her hope in that resignation, but there was a part of her that dreaded it as well.

"You don't take much stock in that, I can tell," said Richard. "Your Pa used to go on about you and the strike last summer. Quietly, you know. Wouldn't do to be heard talking about that."

"Didn't the lot of us like to hear it though!" Pat butted in. "I told him he shouldn't let his kid run with a crowd like that, I did. Always thought them Newsies weren't so much better than street thugs but…"

Here David sat up straighter, and even Sarah couldn't help rolling her eyes.

"I don't know where people get that idea… Okay, I do, I guess, but it gets blown way out of proportion," David said. "All we want to, when it comes right down to it, is sell papers."

The emphasis on the word 'we' did not escape Sarah, and she stood up quickly.

"Well," she said as lightly as she could. "Hopefully that's not absolutely the only thing you do, or the coffee I'm about to make will go to waste. Newsies eat sleep and breath, much like factory workers, presidents, and everyone else come to think of it."

"Sometimes we do," said Richard heartily. "Look at that! It's morning, and don't we regret it!"

Sarah just had time to catch the panicked glance that David cast towards the window before heading towards the kitchen, or the corner of their apartment that was most kitchen-like, and starting the water boiling. They didn't have a coffee press and were unlikely ever to buy one, but her mother had taught her the trick of wrapping the coffee grinds in scrap linen and steeping it like tea, and this is what she did now. They'd need it, because it _was_ morning, and she did indeed regret the night very much. She couldn't imagine when she would catch up on all of the sleep she'd lost in just the last three days, and if she didn't perform decently today she could be fired just as quickly as she'd been hired. She couldn't help but envy David, who could sell as much as he wanted when he wanted, with nobody to care about his performance as long as he paid for his papers each morning. She'd asked Jack once why he'd remained a newsie so long when certainly he was old enough to find another job, and though he'd not really answered her, she'd understood well enough that freedom made it worth the financial uncertainty for him.

The teapot whistled, and Sarah knew that she ought to let the coffee soak for a few minutes longer, but poured it out into the cups anyway. They'd already made a show of Jacobs' family hospitality with watery soup and more dry bread than they could spare. They might as well finish it off with weak, hastily made coffee. There was also an egg to be found in the icebox, and since that could hardly be split between six people, she resolved to boil it and send it off to school with Les.

Richard and Pat were still on the subject of that summer, and the newsies strike.

"I think Mayer always wished he could've done what you were doing out there," Richard was saying. "It was the kind of thing he believed in, that we could band together and make things better…"

"Only he was saddled with you and your sis," Pat said. Sarah, who had just been picking up the coffee cups turned so quickly that the hot water spilled on her hand, and she let out a little yelp. David was up and at her side in a second, and much to her dismay Pat and Richard were as well.,

"Are you okay?" David asked.

Sarah nodded, burying her hand in the folds of her apron, though that did nothing to take out the sting. She wanted to tell Pat to leave, and maybe even Richard to, but she didn't say anything. David put his hand on her shoulder.

Richard sighed. "He thought of you kids as a way of making things better too. Maybe the best way, 'cause he knew he'd get you a good education, not at one of those tenement schools, and then you wouldn't have to settle like he did. He wanted you to be in a position where you could make demands of your employers, not the other way around. Maybe even help others at it."

"That's why we knew we had to give you a hand," Pat added, grinning at David. "You're Mayer's boy after all. He would've liked to see us all standing up to old Perkin's for once. Now that's what I call a fitting memorial."

Pat reached out to shake David's hand, and then hers in turn. It was awkward, reaching out with her left instead of her burnt right, but she appreciated the sentiment.

"We had better get ready for work," David said, looking significantly at the clock.

"Us too," said Richard. "But it was a good adventure, standing up to Perkins and helping you out last night."

The pair turned to go.

"Why don't you do it again," David asked, just as they swung open the door. "If you all do it, he has to listen, doesn't he?"

Pat let out such a howl of laughter at that that Sarah could feel David tense up with surprise beside her.

"Small potatoes, kid. A couple of dollars don't make any difference to him. He won't bend so easily when it comes to the important stuff. 'Sides, we can't afford to lose the pay. Think about it. If your little brother over there had been starving, I mean really seriously starving, would you have kept up with that whole strike business?"

David didn't have an answer for that, and Sarah was almost glad of it, because she knew that no matter what he said she wouldn't like it. She had an absurd desire to blurt out that she had been a part of the strike too, that she'd helped print the paper that won the day, that she didn't like being made to doubt a bright and cherished part of her history. She didn't.

"Thank you for your help with everything," she said instead. "Be careful at work today."

She thought that she was just being pleasant, but when she saw the way that Pat stumbled before Richard closed the door behind him, she realized just how much she meant it.

"Work," David half-said, half groaned once a minute or two had passed.

"I know."

"Where are you working?"

Sarah dropped her voice. "It's down in North Bakersville. I'm sewing knee pants. Knickerbockers. Ten cents for fifty, but they're children's, so I can make them quickly on the machines. Bi-weekly pay. They'll give me lunch too. The place is filthy."

"So much for things getting better."

"They still might. Even if they don't, he'll never know. Maybe five minutes before the accident happened, he was thinking about all the great things we would do. I want to believe that was the last thing he was thinking about."

David didn't have anything to say to that. He turned to look at the clock, as if thoroughly confused by what to do at the sight of the second ticking away. Sarah sighed, and went to wake Les up and help him get ready for school.


	9. Chapter 9

"Looks like you've lost your selling partner, hey Jack?" Racetrack said, taking a drag of his cigar. If it had been summer, Jack would have been sitting on the steps of the distribution center reading through the papers he'd just bought, looking for some inspiration on how to make sure that they were all out of his hands before the day was through. It wasn't summer though, and sitting down wouldn't get him anything aside from a frostbitten ass.

"Line's still going," Jack pointed out, though usually he wouldn't be standing there in the cold waiting for everybody and their mother to finish buying their papes. Come to think of it, neither would Race most of the time. "What about you? Any reason you're keeping me company?"

Race just shrugged as if he had all the time in the world, and took another drag on his cigar.

"Might as well head out," he said finally. "See you later Cowboy."

Jack waited until a couple more people had bought before coming to the decision that maybe he should just head out as well. Could be that David had decided to continue studying after all, and would show up in a day or two acting as though it made absolutely no difference between them whether he was spending most of his time reading books or selling papers. The funny thing was that if he did, Jack would know that it _should_ make a big difference, and sure he'd act like it did, but it really wouldn't make much of one at all.

The line was dwindling down to the last person or two when David came running up. He and Sarah had walked as far as the distribution center together, and some of the newsies who'd been involved in the strike that summer called out their greetings to her, as polite as could be, 'cause even if she wasn't Jack's girl, they all knew that she was a real classy broad. David didn't apologize for being late, but he shot Jack a sheepish look before buying his papes. Once they were purchased, he exchanged a word or two with Mush and Blink before falling into stride beside Jack, who was already walking out towards the street.

"You look like hell," Jack pointed out, because David really did. It wasn't a matter of his clothes, which were rumpled bit still pretty clean for a newsie. It was his face that really looked awful, like he hadn't slept for weeks.

"Everybody in the entire world decided to come to my house last night. Really. Everybody. They had a party."

"You get drunk?"

David made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, as if Jack had just asked the most ridiculous question imaginable.

"Maybe you should try it," Jack suggested. "I'll get you drunk some time if you want."

David shook his head, but then Jack had known that he would.

They didn't have much time to talk after that. There were plenty of questions that Jack wanted to ask, but it wasn't like the answers were going to put food on his table… or in his stomach, considering he didn't even _have _a table or anything fancy like that. Besides, early morning while people were heading off to work was one of the most profitable selling periods. They hit up Wall Street to catch some of the big business tycoons on their way to the office, then it was on to the harbor, since ships came in and out all day. Usually that was one of Mush's spots, but the biting wind and his lack of coat had driven him inland lately. David, at least, was dressed warmly, and Jack figured that the rough material of his own ragged jacket felt close enough to wool to get him through.

It was pretty busy selling from then on. Usually Jack and David would take separate ships, since the headlines they were calling were just about as different as night and day. Jack figured that looking like death warmed over was working in David's favor; from what he could hear, the stories that David was hawking were the exact same crummy stories that the newspaper offered, yet his papers weren't disappearing that much slower than Jack's own.

Jack didn't have a watch, but it was easy enough to tell when noon hit, because the sun was higher up in the sky, and there was a lull in the crowd of people that meant most of them were eating lunch, either on their boats or in small groups around the jumble of crates that always lined the docks. Jack sat down on an empty one, knowing David would find him when he was ready. He only had six papes left, which was a sign that the day was likely to be a good one. He lit a cigarette and was starting to read one when David finally took a seat next to him.

"How many you got left?" Jack asked, not looking up from his paper.

"Eight."

"Not bad. Told you it was a good idea to come out here. Should get lunch. I know where you can buy a bag of steamers for five cents."

"There's a place over by my house where you can get a pound of meat for fifteen cents," David pointed out.

"We ain't exactly near your house. Don't got nothing to cook with neither."

"I know," David said, more softly this time. "But the steamers aren't going to be a third of a pound of meat. It's not economical. They're a bad purchase."

Jack shrugged. He guessed David had probably filled up at breakfast, and if you had four people and a kitchen to cook in, it probably did make more sense to get the pound of meat. He sat for a few minutes upon the crate, swinging his legs against the sides, and mostly thinking about how he wanted those steamers.

"You don't have to skip lunch just because I am," David said after a bit.

"Right. Wasn't planning on it."

Jack pushed himself up off the crate, and left David to guard their spot while he found some grub. David hadn't moved by the time he got back, and was staring out at the sea with his hands jammed in his pockets for warmth.

"You want a couple?" Jack offered, brandishing his bag of food, which was heavy and damp from the clams inside.

"That's alright. Honestly. I'm too tired to eat."

David smiled as though he were joking, but Jack wasn't so sure.

"Next you'll be saying you're too exhausted to sleep." Jack took one of the steamers out of his bag, pulling open the shell with a loud crack. "Why'd you have a party last night?"

"Some of the guys at my Pa's factory did me a favor. Then they followed me home, so we fed them."

Jack nodded, and waited for David to go on… and waited, and waited. He could hear the sea behind them, the call of the gulls, and the occasional shout or holler of laughter from one of the sailors. He cracked open another shell, and felt the warm juice run down his fingers.

"There isn't any big story," David said.

"Figured as much. You get your money or not?" Jack asked, trying to act like he wasn't that interested. The way he figured it, there _was_ a big story, and the entire thing would come pouring out of David in a minute or so if he played his cards right.

"I got it."

"From the school and the factory and everything?"

More silence.

"I didn't have time to go back to the school," David said finally. "The factory took hours on its own. They have strict regulations when it comes to this sort of thing… you know, dying during a shift without first scheduling it and getting permission. If you're going to insist on kicking the bucket and still want to get paid for the hours you worked, you had better do it on your own time. Human remains can stain the merchandise and aren't good for the machines."

"So the place is a shit hole."

David nodded. He was practically seething anger. It was only the second time Jack had seen David look like he might be able to hit somebody with any degree of success, and it was an interesting sight now that that somebody wasn't Jack himself.

"It's supposed to be a good place, because it has a contract, but nobody reads it carefully. Pa, for instance, was somehow under the impression that if he worked hard enough for them for enough years, say twenty or so, then we'd all grow up and get to work somewhere safe and clean, and then our kids would have actual careers, maybe even with a bit of prestige. It's the American dream, pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps and all, only generational rather than individual… just, he didn't read the fine print and realize that nothing had been promised anywhere."

David turned to face Jack and then looked away quickly, and just like that Jack knew that he wasn't going to hear anything else on that topic. The Mouth had spoken, and now it was back to shy, quiet David Jacobs. He handed him a couple of clams, and David took them almost automatically. He thought about reaching out to touch David, but he couldn't help the feeling that it would be too much right now, like there was dynamite between them or something like that. He also considered telling David that he _would_ end up with a career somewhere, because he was smart and he talked nice and that was just what was supposed to happen, but Jack guessed that'd just make it sound like he'd missed the point entirely.

"When I leave New York you can come with me," Jack offered.

"I won't leave for a long time. I'm going to have a lot of things to do in the next few years. I bet I'll know where to find you if I do, though."

Jack shrugged. He'd finished his lunch by now, and had crumpled up the bag it'd come in, and was passing it back and forth between his hands. He stopped when he noticed that David was watching this action intently.

"We'd better get moving," Jack said, abandoning the bag on the ground as he stood. They'd had enough of a break for one day. The papers, after all, were not going to sell themselves.

_Notes: I love reviews. Please?_


	10. Chapter 10

By the time all of his papers were sold David was convinced that he could curl up and go to sleep right there on the street as easily as if it had been a feather bed… even if it _was_ cold, and people _would_ stare at him, and there would be carriages and horses and all of that. He had no intention of actually doing so, but it was fascinating the new options that almost two full nights without sleep could open up.

"Talk to me," Jack ordered about halfway through their silent walk back in the direction of the lodging house.

"Hi."

Jack laughed. David couldn't imagine what was so funny.

"That's all you got?"

"What were we talking about again?"

"How we gotta talk, 'cause I'm afraid you's gonna fall asleep standing up else wise."

"I won't. Maybe I'll _go_ to sleep in a bit, but I definitely won't _fall _asleep. It only counts as falling asleep if there isn't any rational thought and choice involved."

"… Good to know." Jack said, and David wondered why he was even bothering with this whole talking thing, if Jack wasn't even going to try to follow the conversation or god forbid help him along with it.

"Go on," Jack urged after a minute or two.

"You're kidding."

Jack shook his head, and watched him expectantly.

"Um… I think some of the cargo back at the docks came from Arabia. The boxes looked like they had Arabic writing on them at least," David said, before remembering that he could've just refused to answer.

" D'you know Arabic too?"

David shook his head. Jack sighed. Why was he sighing?

"Any crates from Latin?"

"Huh?"

"Or with Latin writing on them, since you can speak that and all. When you read about Odessa."

David blinked. He could feel the headache that have been his near constant companion for the last several days throbbing away somewhere behind his eyes, and what was worse he had no idea who Odessa was or what Jack was on about. Thankfully they were already close enough to the lodging that they were no longer the only newsies about; David jumped at first when Mush clapped him on the back, but he was grateful to see him, if only because figuring out who Odessa was suddenly seemed monumentally distressing, and he was on the verge of blurting out some nonsense about feeling sick.

"How were the Docks? You just rake in the cash over there, hey Davey?" Asked Mush, who it had always seemed to David had a talent for being in an irrepressibly good mood whenever anybody else was feeling the slightest bit irritable.

"We sold everything," David said, trying for cheerful, if only because when it came right down to it Mush was one of the nicest people he knew, and deserved as much.

"One of these days I'm gonna run off on one of those ships," Mush said.

"He already tried that once," Jack laughed behind him.

"What happened?" David asked.

"Puked all over everything. But I was real little back then. Blink'll come with me next time. I gotta get me a coat, so's I can take my spot back."

He punched David once in the shoulder in mock aggression, and would've given David a second blow if he hadn't dodged.

"I've got a lot of sweaters at home. You can have some if you want," David offered, feeling slightly guilty for his own nice coat. It had been better than his family had really been able to afford, but his dad had bought it for him because of some notion that he should be able to wear at least a little of what the other guys at school did. David felt the heat rise in his face, and realized, much to his dismay, that he was probably blushing.

"Actually, you can have the coat," David said so abruptly that even he wasn't sure where the words had come from. His hand brushed against the buttons, but Jack shoved them away.

"Don't be an idiot."

David let his hands fall at his sides. He'd meant to protest that he wasn't being an idiot, but when he met Jack's gaze his friend was looking at him as seriously as if he'd told him in a rush every single solitary thought that had been going through his mind all morning.

"Sorry," David heard himself mutter. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away from him. It was unnerving, as though the world was drifting away and becoming nonsensical far faster than David had any hope of catching up with. Jack must've seen that in his face too, because he wrapped his arms around him from the back, holding onto him so that the back of his head was just touching Jack's chest.

"You should be sorry. He'd look dumb in that coat, just like you do."

"Are you okay, Dave?" Mush asked

"Fine," David answered quickly, but Jack was already speaking over him anyway.

"Davey went on a little bender with the good old boys at his dad's factory last night. Had near a third of whiskey, and he's feeling it today is all."

"No I didn't," David said, jerking away. Jack's arms tightened around him for a split second as though he didn't want to let go, but he did in the end without any particular fight.

"I wouldn't worry a 'bout it. We all know what that's like," Mush said helpfully.

"But I really didn't."

Mush shrugged.

"Davey and I are about to catch a show at Medda's if you wanna come," Jack offered.

It was around that time that David started to wonder if Jack was in fact trying to make everything worse and more difficult.

"I can't."

"It'll be fine. You can sleep in the theatre if you want."

"I need to go to the school. I didn't go yesterday, remember? And…"

David stopped. He had to go to the funereal home too, to make sure things were arranged properly, and to set a date. He didn't trust himself to say it though, which made him wonder how he was going to actually _do _it. He was sure that he could've handled it just fine yesterday, and would be able to if he waited until tomorrow, but it wasn't as though it was the kind of thing he could put off, not with the state of the body being what it was. Probably what was left of his dad's eyes would rot away if he waited another day… in fact, that was _definitely_ what would happen.

"Let's go," Jack said. His hand fell lightly on David's shoulder.

"You're not coming," David shot back. He had to turn away from Jack then, because he suddenly looked hurt, and worse he surprised and _open_ to being hurt in a way that David only caught from Jack on rare occasions.

"Do you want me to come?"

Mush's voice was softer than Jack's had been, and less certain, which was good, because Jack had no right to be as certain of things as he usually was. Mush sounded sort of nervous too, though, which wasn't such a good thing.

"It's alright," David said. He even managed a bit of a smile for Mush's sake.

He turned to go then, because waiting around wasn't going to get things done, and if he managed to finish what needed finishing, at least he'd have his bed to look forward to.

It didn't really surprise him when he realized that Jack had fallen into stride, and was walking beside him.

_Notes: Many thanks to Roseybelle2, kin-outcast1, and shinigami nanoda for reviewing previous chapters. The reviews have been very helpful, not just in motivating me to write more, but in also in giving me ideas of *what* to write. _

_Hopefully the story will be getting more relationshippy and a bit faster moving from here on out. I'm particularly curious about what people thought on this chapter, because it does deal more with the relationship bits. Did everybody seem in character? Anything (or anyone!) you're hoping to see more (or less) of in upcoming chapters? Tell me! It will make my day, I promise. _


	11. Chapter 11

It didn't take Jack long to catch up with David, but it did take him a while to figure out what to say once he had. He wouldn't apologize. He hadn't done anything wrong, at least not by anybody but Dave's standards, which could be pretty weird a lot of the time. He wished he was just a little angry with David, because if someone was going to be mad at you it just felt a whole lot better if you were mad at them back, so then at least you could hit each other a few times and return to normal.

"Look," he started, once he'd firmly resolved that punching David in the face would be a terrible idea, "maybe I shouldn't be following you…"

"Why, just because I _told_ you not to?" David spat back. Jack had expected a glare, but it seemed like David didn't even want to look at him… and for all the anger in David's voice, that was enough to make Jack worry.

"I just thought… Look, you're about ready to drop."

"Well, yeah. It's a wonder I made it into work after passing out drunk at five o'clock this morning."

"Mush would've understood that."

"But not just being tired? I'm not even that tired, really. There's not a lot to understand."

"Right. Now who's lying?"

That stopped David. He turned to Jack like he was going to tell him off, opened his mouth, and then closed it again promptly.

"See, told you you was tired," Jack said, half smiling, because it wasn't often that David was speechless… except for today, when he was always speechless, give or take a sentence or two. The smile faded. "Why'd you try to give Mush your coat?"

David shrugged uncomfortably. "I wasn't thinking. I just… I didn't want it."

"Okay," Jack sighed. David was still standing a couple of feet away from him, his body tensed as if ready for a big argument. "Right. Next time you try and give away useful stuff that you need, I won't stop you."

"That's a start. Will you go now so that I can actually get things done?"

Jack's face fell. He was sure that it must have, because David hadn't just walked away.

"I thought maybe you didn't wanna deal with people," Jack admitted, not budging.

"I _don't_."

"You know, _other_ people."

"…Oh."

David's face softened just enough to let Jack know that he'd won, and he closed the distance between them.

"If we go to the school, you can't get mad at anybody, or yell at them. It's getting late. Probably only the teachers will be around, and they haven't done anything wrong. They aren't going to just hand me a wad of cash. They'll pass on a message if I give it to them, and that's all that's going to happen."

Jack nodded, trying for serious. Inwardly he was… he wanted to say triumphant, because of course he'd _known_ that David wanted him to come along, but the smile that he was trying to bite back may just as well have been relief.

"And the guy who runs the funereal home…" David continued. "You'll hate him. I know I do. We can't fight with him, though." He paused for a second as if carefully considering how much to say before adding, "My family owes him a lot of money. He basically owns our lives 'till we pay him back."

"Only if you let him," Jack said, which _did_ earn him a glare from David.

"He has the body," David pointed out, calmly, but in a way that made Jack think that pretending to be calm was the only thing keeping him together. "So we're going to get that taken care of. If we try making trouble it'll mean bad things for my mom… Sarah and Les too."

"So he just gets to charge you a shit load of money for having somebody die?"

"Dying is free. Just not cleaning up afterwards. Do we have to keep talking about it? I just want to get it done and over with."

Jack was tempted to say that yeah, they did have to talk about it. Then again, it really _was_ getting late, and there were plenty of things that David didn't force him to talk about.

"Right," he said. "Let's do this then."

**OoOoO**

By the time they reached the school it was the emptiest Jack had ever seen it. Granted, he didn't spend a lot of time there, but he'd come by before just as classes were getting out, and he'd come by around lunch. He'd even once stopped in first thing in the morning and waited for David by the gate; that'd been when David first started going back there and it had annoyed Jack beyond words that he couldn't just go find him whenever he wanted to. He'd never resented the way that David was smarter than him or anything like that, he'd just missed having him around and half expected one day he'd turn around and find David had a fancy degree and not even a the tiniest bit of newsie left in him.

"It's like as ghost town," Jack said. It was amazing how loud he sounded in the empty school yard. Probably it was the only empty place in New York City. The noise that his own voice made was just about the only thing that kept it from being downright creepy.

David just nodded. He was apparently over whatever talkative streak had struck him earlier, and back to looking sort of zonked out and lost. Well, better zonked than pissed off, and at least he wasn't too lost to lead them where they needed to go, which was good, because another way that the school was different from the rest of the city was that Jack didn't know his way around here.

Inside consisted of two floors with a long hall and lots of doors leading into empty classrooms. The building was a lot nicer than most buildings Jack was used to, definitely nicer than the lodging house or even David's apartment. It was bizarre to think that the school was filled with even more boys than the lodge during the day, and somehow it still stayed orderly and clean.

Jack followed David as he walked through the halls, peaking into the different classroom windows, probably trying to find anybody at all to talk to. There was a guy in a shabby looking suit writing at his desk in one of the first floor classrooms, but David ducked out of the way almost as soon as he looked inside and saw who it was, and led him a little bit quicker to look in the other rooms. They'd reached the very last classroom on the second floor before David paused to lean against the wall.

"Looks like we'll have to go back to 105," he said.

Jack nodded.

"My desk's in there anyway. I can get my stuff out."

Jack wondered what kind of an asshole the shabby teacher with his stupid suit had to be that David didn't even want to get his things if he was there. It didn't make Jack any less confused that, once they got into the room, the answer seemed to be an exceptionally friendly one.

"Mr. Jacobs," the man said, looking up from his pile of papers as the door creaked open and David walked in. He smiled in a way that looked kind to Jack. Granted, he'd met his share of god-awful people who just happened to smile a lot, but the way they went about it was different.

"Sir."

"We haven't seen you around these parts in some time. I was beginning to fear you'd made another grand disappearance," the teacher said lightly, the smile still on his face. It faded, however, a second later when David didn't answer right away. That was around the time that the man looked up and made eye contact with Jack, raising his eyebrows as if to ask what he was doing there. Jack busied himself quickly with looking inside the desk nearest to him. There were lots of pens, a slate, and some other stuff.

David cleared his throat. There was a pear in the next desk over. The third one was a tangled mess of god only knew what, belonging to some boy who stowed more stuff in his school desk than Jack had ever owned in his life.

"I basically am," David said finally. "Not basically. I mean… I am."

"Oh." A pause. There were picture frames on the wall of the classroom, but not with pictures inside of them, just papers with words scrawled all over them in flowing hand-written script. Maybe they were student essays or something.

"Is everything alright David?" It took Jack a second to realize that David had turned back to look at him almost reflectively. He moved a little closer, taking a seat on one top of one of the desks in the front row.

"It's fine. It's just like the other time… almost. Um… There was a casualty."

"I see. Why don't you sit down? Is this Jack?"

Jack startled a bit, but he jumped off his place on the desk to cover it.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out," he said, as smoothly as if he'd been expecting the guy to know it. At least he thought he was being pretty smooth. The hint of a smile on David's face told another story.

"It's good to finally meet the great strike leader," the teacher said, reaching out to shake Jack's hand. Both their hands were ink stained, Jack's with newspaper smudges, and the teacher's with bigger blots here and there, as if from a fountain pen. Jack had to resist the urge to spit in his.

"Don't think we've been introduced," Jack said, once he'd pulled his hands away.

"This is Mr. Amorosi," David explained. "He's my literature teacher."

"Great." Jack followed David's lead and pulled up one of the classroom chairs to sit near Mr. Amorosi's desk. He watched as David removed his newsboy's cap and rested it on his lap.

The man opened a drawer, still smiling, and pulled out some apples, which Jack at least wasn't about to refuse. "Read any good books lately?" He asked, taking a bite. He elbowed David, thinking he ought to take one since he hadn't had lunch, but the other boy didn't budge.

"We're reading poetry at the moment. I'm sure David has told you…"

Jack laughed at that. "Can't say he had. Since when did you start keeping secrets from me, Dave?"

"Since you lost the last book I gave you in a bet with Racetrack," David shot back, though he sat up straighter when Mr. Amorosi met his eyes, as though remembering where he was.

"Ain't lost if I know where it's at."

"Maybe Race is actually reading it."

"I did read it!" Jack said quickly, and then remembered that he wasn't just out somewhere talking with David. "I read it," Jack said to Mr. Amorosi, who may or may not have cared. "A lot of it anyways. It was about this hunchbacked guy up in a bell tower in France. Would've been good if the author knew how to shut up and just tell the story once in awhile."

For a moment it looked like David might break into a smile, but a glance at his surroundings seemed to strengthen his resolve against that.

"I need the school to refund my tuition for second semester," he explained. The words, "if possible," that came next could have been an afterthought or a plea. Jack wasn't sure which.

"Have you thought carefully about whether there is a way to continue your studies?"

"Yes sir."

"Considered other schools in the city?"

David nodded.

The man frowned, like it was some kind of big deal that David couldn't go to school any more. The problem was that Jack knew that it kind of was. He'd survive and it wouldn't end things for him, but it would change them plenty.

"It's not such a long time more to be studying," Mr. Amorosi continued, "Though I'm sure you would have no trouble getting a college to take you, if that was what you wanted. Have you thought about that?"

Another nod.

"David," the teacher said, "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you."

"Maybe he don't wanna look at your ugly mug," Jack said quickly. It worked, even though it shouldn't have. Whatever new fascination that David had found in his shoes vanished all at once, and he gave Jack a wild wide eyed look that told him clear as day that it was time for him to shut the hell up.

Mr. Amorosi also looked surprised for about a second, before he burst out laughing.

"I can't say I blame him," Mr. Amorosi said. David let out a long breath.

"I _have_ considered all of my options," David said, suddenly all business and calm like Jack knew he could be. "Maybe I had to make the decisions quickly, but they aren't rash ones."

Mr. Amorosi nodded. "Given the opportunity I would have liked to keep both of you on as students."

Jack bit back a laugh. The guy didn't know what he was talking about if he was saying he wanted him as a student. It seemed less funny as David thanked him solemnly and there were more handshakes all around, though.

David stood, and went over to what must have been has desk. It was nearly empty, but everything was lined up with exceeding care and neatness. That was around the time that Jack started to feel like he wanted nothing more than to get out of there. It didn't seem right to him that David should have to give up his neat, orderly desk. His newsboy's cap had fallen to the ground when he'd stood up, and Jack ran up to place it back on his head, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

"Want me to take some of them books?" He offered, as David pocketed his pens. He hadn't brought a bag.

"Sure."

"I know a place that'll buy them off of you if you want."

A nod.

"Mr. Jacobs?" The teacher said, as they were opening the door. David turned around to look at him. "Can I talk to you just a moment more before you go?"

David gave Jack a look that said as plain as day that he should leave. Jack hesitated, shrugged, then pocketed the last two apples from the teacher's desk before shutting the door behind him.

He leaned against the wall, and considered flipping through some of David's books, but couldn't decide which one. He liked the idea of reading them, but having tried once, he knew he'd never have much time for it. Maybe someday, when he moved to Santa Fe and he didn't have to wander far and wide just to do his job, he'd sit out in the sun one day on his ranch with his herd of cows or whatever, and read through one of David's books from cover to cover. Yeah. That was exactly what he'd do. Maybe he and David could even read it together, like they did with some of the papes, even if they'd probably go hoarse from trying to get through so many pages aloud. He tossed one of his apples up in the air, caught it again, waited. The door opened, and David came out.

"What'd he say?" Jack asked, as they were walking out of the school.

"A lot of things," David said, with a slight smile that made Jack feel relieved, because it made him look so much like himself.

"Like?"

"Not to sell the books. That I'm lucky to have a friend like you…" he stopped for a moment before adding, "He said maybe he could help me find a job. I couldn't take it now. Selling papes is just about the only thing that pays daily, instead of weekly or monthly, but maybe later… Well, my family has to get its debts settled first."

Jack bit back the sudden urge to tell David about reading books together in Santa Fe, and just asked, "So, why didn't you want to see the guy, since he's your new hero and all?"

"What?"

"You made us look in every other class before going in."

"Too many questions. Besides, the administration doesn't like him. Too many of his books are 'modern and vulgar'… Hugo and Dickens and all of them. We even read some newspaper articles. We read the strike, not that _the Sun_ is always the most credible news source. Did you know in 1835 they published a series of articles describing how they'd found aliens on the moon? It went on for weeks, and they never even posted a retraction when the hoax was discovered. Just stopped talking about it."*

"Wish _the World_ would follow their lead then. We need some better headlines."

"Guess _the Sun_ has a long history of being a friend to the newsies."

"Hey Davey?"

"Yeah?"

"It's too bad that you can't finish up school."

David shrugged, "I only wanted to be there about half the time. Sometimes it made me stir-crazy, or some of the classes didn't seem that useful, and I thought that I'd be out selling papers with you in a heartbeat. I guess either way I'd like to be in a position where I get to choose what I'm going to do."

Normally Jack would have told him that he _could_ choose what he was going to do, but David seemed the most okay he'd been all day, and Jack decided that the best thing he could do was let him be that way. Besides, they'd arrived at the funeral home, and that was sure to be more difficult than the school.

Whatever Jack had been expecting to happen there didn't happen though. David exchanged some bland words with the guy at the front desk, talked about money a little, signed some papers, and set the date of the funeral for that Sunday. Jack stood in the doorway. The only problem he could see was that the money David talked about was _a lot_. When the man asked if David wanted to go see his father again, he refused very quickly. Everything went so easily, but once they were outside David looked as relieved as if the funeral home was his own personal vision of hell. Jack didn't say anything. There wasn't a lot to say.

OoOoO

Jack ended up back at the Jacob's home for dinner. When they opened the door that led to the apartment a short balding man and a tall one with a thick beard were sitting at the kitchen table next to David's mother, talking in low voices about something.

David kept his mouth shut, but the way his face asked what the _hell_ they were doing there kept Jack from posing nearly the same question.

"David! Oh, hello Jack, it was good of David to bring you home." His mother jumped up to greet them both. Les, on the other hand, reserved his most enthusiastic greeting and hug for Jack, and only took a second to inform David that school was stupid and he hated it, before running off to be mad, Jack supposed.

"He'll be fine," Esther said soothingly. "Look at the two of you, half frozen. Richard and Pat here were just stopping by with some food to make up for what that army you brought back ate last night. Now we only have Sarah to wait for."

"Oh," David said. Not terribly eloquent, but it the sun had set on their way back to his apartment, the day was over, and it had been _long._

Esther gave David's shoulder a squeeze. "Well, you two go on," she said gesturing to the fire-escape that he and Jack nearly always ended up on while they were waiting to eat, and where Jack knew was the best place they could possibly go, unexpected company be damned. That was one of the reasons that Esther was so great.

Les was already out there, sitting on the edge and dangling his skinny legs over the grates in the railing. David, who usually always stood when they were out there, took a seat against the wall, so Jack sat down too. It was pitch-black and cold. On instinct Jack pulled David a bit closer to him.

"The other kids at school wouldn't play with me," Les announced sullenly. He turned around to sit cross legged in front of them in the small space.

"Why not?" David asked, all concern.

"'Cause you and Sarah sent me to school with just an egg for lunch, and then Bobby took it, then I soaked him and he started crying like a stupid baby so Joseph, that's Bobby's best friend, said his mom and pa said he shouldn't play with me. Then Johnny said his mom and pa told him to stay away from kids who smoke and…"

"Wait… since when do you smoke?" David asked, with an accusatory look at Jack.

"Bad habit kiddo. Better stop. So, what happened with the other kids?"

"Robert Johnson said his mother told him to stay away from kids below his station. Like those ones on the streets who sell newspaper, 'less the get fleas, and that I basically am one of those kids. Then I guess it spread around that I have fleas, even though I _don't, _and neither do you, right Jack?"

"Nope. No fleas. If I had fleas they'd be smarter than the boys at your school."

"Yeah! I'm gonna tell them that tomorrow. If I have to go. David, do I have to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It was important to Pa. Pretty much the most important thing."

"Yeah, so why do only I gotta do it? You don't even _care_ if nobody there likes you. You go, and I'll sell papers. You can't say it ain't safe, because I'll be with Jack and the other guys all day, and Tumbler's even younger than I am, so there."

"Try and hold out for at least a few more years," Jack suggested. "Dave's got enough schooling already to just about get a real job."

"Does not."

"Does so."

"What about you? You don't have any schooling. I'll come work for you in Santa Fe."

"Sure, but I'm not going to need any more farm hands, what with my plans of inviting all the other guys to come along. What I'm going to really need is people to… to handle my 'vesterments and talk to people and get them interested in my ranch, maybe even get little kids to come visit and teach them about the animals. That kind of stuff. It ain't like I'd kick you or David off my ranch no matter what happened, but it'd be a big help if you could just finish up sixth grade for me."

"Can Sarah come?" Les asked thoughtfully. "She can sew."

"Yeah. Couldn't have a ranch without a seamstress."

"What about Medda? She'd be lonely if we all left."

"I'd hate to leave her behind."

"And mom. We can't leave her here all alone."

"'Course not. She's family."

Les turned and swung his legs back over the edge, apparently satisfied. David had leaned a little closer into him while they were talking. Jack rubbed his arm gently, just because it felt good to do it. A long time passed before anybody said anything else. Jack kept quiet mostly because he felt David lean his head against his shoulder, and didn't want to startle him. Why Les kept quiet was a mystery, because nobody was usually more talkative than Les.

"Sarah's really late," Les said after a while. Jack nodded.

"I'm starting to hate it here," Les added a few minutes later.

"Les…" Jack said cautiously, his voice still quiet. "Look, I'm real sorry it's gotta be this way. You'll get used to it, and then some things will be fun again. Promise."

The younger boy barely even nodded, just turned around to look at him and David appraisingly, his gaze far too shrewd for a nine-year-old.

"You're only taking Dave's side in this 'cause you like him better than you like me," Les said, though Jack couldn't help but notice that he spoke in a whisper, not a shrill shout of little-kid anger.

Luckily Sarah saved him from having to answer that one. She opened the window, leaning out over it. Even in the scant light Jack could see that her arms had been stained black. She seemed to notice his stare and hid them behind her back.

"Time for dinner," she announced, followed by a rather incredulous, "Is he sleeping? In this cold?"

"Not for long," Jack said, giving David a shake, as Les climbed right over the two of them and in through the window.

"Hey, c'mon, time to eat." Jack climbed in ahead of his drowsy and probably half-frozen best friend, giving him a hand up and through the window. David blinked in the brighter lights inside his house, looking almost surprised to find himself there. It made Jack want to go right back outside and forget about dinner for the night, even if he _was_ hungry, and it was something they would likely to both regret in the morning when they woke up with frostbite or whatever.

"Your hands…" were the first words out of David's mouth, once he was awake enough to notice anything. He took hold of one of them gently.

"They use cheap dye for the knickerbockers, crooks that they are," Sarah explained, with what sounded like false cheer. Jack could see now that the circles under her eyes were near as dark as her stained hands. "I've actually been home for nearly an hour. I tried to wash it off, but…" She bit her lip, then tossed her head back and continued more heartily, "If my hands look like this, can you imagine what will happen to anybody who tries to wear them? It will cover their…"

"Ass," Les supplied helpfully from the table.

"Les," Sarah started in a tone that was somewhere between frank amusement and consternation, and only served to encourage her little brother.

"Their balls'll be black too," Les added. His mother kind of clicked her tongue at him, and David bit back his laugh with a lot more success than Jack had.

"Maybe it'll serve them right for messing with your sister's pretty hands," Jack said, sitting down to eat with what he felt very keenly just then was _his_ family, in spite of all the problems they were having. "I know some tricks for getting ink off of stuff. We can try them out later if you want."

OoOoO

_Notes: So this was a very long, very Jack-centric chapter. Hopefully that's a good thing, right?_

_Thanks so much for Jess and PoisonIvy7 for being the two people to review the last chapter. In particular, I was in the throws of writers' block for quite some time when it came to this story, and PoisonIvy's review gave me a lot of reviews and direction. I find it much easier to write David's point of view than Jack's, and I had been spending way too much time trying to think of this chapter from that perspective and failing. _

_As always, comments, requests, and criticism are all welcome. I get the feeling that a Beta reader would be a good thing, if anybody just happens to have tons of free time (or not even tons. I certainly don't. Writing this is the very __**last**__ thing I should have been doing this weekend)._

_* I learned about the Sun Article with the aliens from the crack dot com book "You Might Be a Zombie and Other Bad News". It was a pretty exciting discovery!_


	12. Chapter 12

It should have been a quiet dinner. It almost was. Jack was the first to speak, and Sarah could forgive him for that, because she knew that deep down he was one of them in all but name, if only because he meant nearly everything to her brother. Her head hurt, and Jack _shouldn't _have laughed at David for bolting down his food at a rate that she'd never seen from him before, but coming from him it was okay. Even his comment, teasing nonsense about how eating too fast just made you hungrier, was almost certainly an echo of something that David had told him, and therefore reasonable and no justification whatsoever to snap at him.

Richard and Pat however…

If _Richard and Pat_ didn't leave soon, Sarah was going to stab them with her fork. It had been nice of them to bring dinner, certainly, and the corn beef and cabbage they'd brought was more of a solid meal then she expected her family would be able to afford on their own for a day or two, but there came a time when enough was simply enough. Sarah poked at her meat, doing her best to make herself swallow it all, because she knew that she needed to if she was going to make it to tomorrow and the day after.

She'd tried very hard to find the silver-lining in her factory job. The blue-eyed girl who sat next to her on the machines, for example, was in possession of a kind and ready smile that had nearly made up for her inability to form English sentences… that was, until Sarah had noticed quite by accident that this girl had _bugs_ in her pretty golden hair, and spent most of the day convinced that things were crawling all over her as a result. Lunch had surprised her by being hot and tasting nice, but she'd caught a glimpse of the kitchen where it had been made on the way out, and wondered if the money saved would be worth not just packing some bread and pickles from home. The old lady who ran the establishment had been nothing but friendly to her, even when towards the end of the day they'd caught her asleep at the machine and she'd startled so badly at her gentle touch upon her shoulder that she'd actually burst into tears upon waking – that was something that she would never tell anybody in her family about, not even her mother, who she'd always confided everything in before. It was probably just that she was tired. God, was she ever exhausted.

"We've been thinking a lot about what we were talking about this morning," Richard started saying a few bites in. Sarah gripped her napkin a little harder under the table.

"I don't know how you can think of anything at all," she responded reflexively. "After last night, and all that went on."

She thought she sounded positively venomous; she earned herself a raised eyebrow from her mother, a very satisfyingly surprised look from Jack, and no reaction whatsoever from David, who was looking into his plate as if it had suddenly changed into a crystal ball and might tell him the future. Nonetheless Richard just smiled, and Pat outright laughed and smacked David hard across the back.

"She's a spirited one, your sister," He howled. At least that seemed to wake David up, and he even opened his mouth to say something, but Jack cut in first.

"Only when jackasses like you provoke her," he said, leaning over to shove Pat's hand away from David. There was a heat in his voice, and Sarah looked down at her food to keep from staring at him. Jack, at times, reminded her of a big friendly dog, vehemently loyal and quick to growl or bite in defense of "his" family, even before he had time to consider much about whether or not any actual offense had been given; she knew that she ought to think him ridiculous for it, but it was one of his most endearing qualities.

"Nobody is provoking anybody," her mother said quickly. David nodded.

"You're probably right, Miss Sarah," Richard said more carefully, "But when near two hundred people have the same idea it can't be ignored till after you take a nap."

"Wish it could," Pat added with a chuckle. "It'd keep us out of trouble."

"Go on then," David said. Sarah considered kicking him under the table, because he was starting to look interested in spite of himself.

"I wanna know your idea!" Les would have jumped out of his seat if mother hadn't taken hold of his arm. He _did _get a kick under the table, judging from the way he yelped and glared at David.

"Well, we didn't think old Perkins would have the courage to say much to us today, but it turns out he's dumber than we thought," Richard explained. "He's issued complaints about all of us to the upper management, and means to have regulations tightened."

"'Cause you helped David?" Les asked.

Richard nodded.

"I don't see how regulations could be much tighter," said David.

"Guess they'd rather have us piss on the seats than give us breaks throughout the days. Says so we can't wander 'round causing a ruckus like we did last night. Really was a ruckus too, wasn't it?" Pat slammed his cup down on the table hard. In theory the spirits he'd brought had been another gift for the family, but at the moment he was the only one partaking. Richard snatched his cup away, and handed it to David.

"You want some of this kid?" He asked. David just shook his head and handed it over to Jack, who took a gulp of it and made a face as if he didn't quite enjoy it, before trying another sip. Sarah wondered what they would do if she asked for some. She never would, of course, but it was rather annoying that it never would be offered to her either.

"It could be dangerous to take away your breaks, though," David said. "If you're too tired to concentrate on the machines…"

"It's already too dangerous," Sarah said. "And the machines are terrible, no matter how hard you concentrate."

"Pa was concentrating," said Les, slumping down a bit in his chair, arms folded. It was only then that Sarah noticed just how much food he had left.

"It gets worse," Richard continued. "The plan is to get back what they lost, giving you that money last night, by taking it from the pay from those of us who helped you out."

"That'd be everybody. Not that it comes down to a lot of cash, maybe a cent or two each, but he ain't doing it for the money. He's doing it to spit in our face for standing up to him, claims it's legal 'cause production was down yesterday, on account of us paying too much attention to you."

"It's not about the money," Richard went on. "Your dad was the third person to die on the job this year. A few others have been injured, and if you're hurt you get fired, sometimes docked as well."

"Sometimes even if you ain't hurt," Pat added. "Gabe got fired 'cause his wife was sick, and the big boss was worried he'd need time off to take care of her. He hadn't even taken so much as a minute off, they just figured they'd let him go in case the idea should cross his mind at some point."

Pat looked completely serious now for the first time all night, and Sarah shivered, suddenly aware that something _was_ going to happen, maybe a whole lot of somethings over the next few weeks.

"So, you gotta show them that together you're bigger than the bosses," Jack said. He looked so excited that Sarah didn't have the heart to tell him that this had nothing to do with him… besides, it was pretty easy to see a scenario where it would have everything to do with him soon enough.

"We've been thinking the same thing," Pat said. He reached for his cup, and finding that it wasn't there, took a gulp straight out of the bottle.

"We'll help," Les offered. "You can have a strike. Even David is good at that. Jack'll help too, right?"

"Can't say exactly where's I come into this, but sure, I'll do what I can."

"Look," said Richard, "I know you kids are probably exhausted, and have plenty to worry about without getting involved with us lot…"

"I'd say we're already involved," David said.

"Well, we won't ask a lot of you. We're meeting tomorrow night to organize. It would mean a lot if you three just showed up. Reminded us what we're fighting for, maybe talk about that newspaper strike of yours if you want, but that's not the most important thing. It's just that your dad meant a lot to a lot of us, and it'd be good to see you there."

"We'll be there," Les promised at once.

"Tell us where, and I can come after I sell everything," David said solemnly.

Sarah sighed. "I have work until at least six or seven," she said. "But I _would_ like to see something done about this."

That settled things. Richard wrote down the address of a restaurant called Martin's and handed it over to David. Dinner was finished quickly. Company left, and the dishes were cleared away. Sarah usually helped with this, but her mother just squeezed her shoulder and told her to get some rest.

Jack and David were talking by the window, not outside of it for once. Sarah's head was in her hands, and she couldn't be bothered to look up at them, but she caught snatches of conversation. Jack sounded so happy, joking about how this was the second strike that David had caused, like he was some sort of social anarchist who went around orchestrating these kinds of things for the fun of it. David just sounded bewildered.

Jack didn't wait to help her take care of her hands like he'd said he would. Probably he didn't know any tricks to deal with ink anyway. Jack was Jack, and probably he'd just said it because he'd wanted it to be true and wanted to fix things. He had a way of lying while barely noticing that he wasn't speaking god's own truth.

In the end it was David who came to get her.

"We're both falling asleep in the stupidest places today," he said, hands on her shoulder.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"What were you doing then?"

"Waiting for you to be finished."

He just nodded, and waited until she was in bed before lying down in his own.

The last thing that Sarah heard was water running in the kitchen, and mother trying to shush Les as he complained that tonight _wasn't_ his night to help with the dishes.

_Notes: Thanks again to my reviewers! In particular, I absolutely hadn't been planning for this story to involve a strike (or in all honesty, much of a plot at all.), but enough people suggested it, and it works. _


	13. Chapter 13

David opened his eyes to the sound of water being pumped in the bathroom. He knew that it still had to be early, because nobody had tried to get him out of bed yet, and Les was still sleeping. Only Sarah's bed was empty

He'd closed his eyes and was drifting back to sleep when he felt somebody sit down beside him, and a gentle hand wind its way through his hair. He started to sit up.

"You have another half hour," his mother assured him. Her eyes were red, perhaps because she hadn't slept well, or perhaps because she had been crying. David didn't know what to say to her.

"I'm not tired anymore," he explained. She winced at the sound of his voice. He had a strange feeling, as though he'd spent the entire day yesterday looking at the world through a grimy window, but somebody had cleaned it in the night, and things were clear again. Maybe that was why he could see how upset his mom was.

"Are you hungry?" She asked.

He nodded.

His mother kissed him on the cheek before standing up to go to the kitchen, and that at least was normal. It didn't make him feel weird and small, like her touching his hair had done.

He got dressed quickly only to waste a good five minutes standing and staring at his sock drawer afterwards. He wasn't a morning person by nature, but his dad had always made a point of getting him up early enough to review his school books before going in, telling him that this was one of the habits that would make a great man of him. He still had the books, but something in him revolted against the thought of even looking at them.

Sarah immerged from the bathroom, her hands and arms red from scrubbing, yet still tinted an inky shade of grey, especially around the fingernails.

"You're not reading," she pointed out.

"Neither are you."

She sat down on her bed.

"I'd just as soon open up my books as I would Pandora's box," she said, brushing her hair out of her face in an effort to look casual.

"What do you expect to come flying out?"

"Discontent. An entire swarm of it. Like locusts."

"The story said there was hope at the bottom, after all of the bad things came out."

Sarah almost smiled at that.

"So why aren't you looking for it?" she asked. She stood, and retrieving one of his school books from where he'd left them neatly stacked the day before, tossed it in his direction.

"Don't forget to get one for yourself," David said.

The two of them reading silently in the early morning hours had been a routine for nearly as long as David could remember. Usually Sarah sat on her bed and David on his, but this morning she sat down next to him instead, and he moved over a bit to give her room. When their mother came over later to wake Les and call them to breakfast she smiled at them, though David did not miss the way her hand crossed briefly in front of her eyes.

Breakfast was bread, milk, and two eggs between the four of them, beaten with what David guessed must have been the corned beef left over on Les's plate the night before. Les didn't talk the entire way through breakfast, and David swallowed down his as rapidly as he could, not wanting to make Jack wait for him again today.

Sarah fell into step beside him as he left the house. Her factory was in the same direction as the distribution center, so it made sense to walk as far as they could together.

"I won't look for a change of work until I've made it to the first payday," Sarah announced out of the blue when they were a little more the half way through their journey. "I've been through a day and a half of it already, and I don't mean to let what I've already done go to waste."

"Is it so bad?"

"I don't know," Sarah admitted. "I wanted to avoid the bigger factories, like Pa's. I didn't want to be lost in something like that. The place I'm at now seemed… well, I suppose it seemed friendlier, but I'm not convinced it can keep afloat. The entire place is filled to the brim with filth. Even the clothes we're selling."

Sarah looked down at her hands.

"But they treat you well?" David asked.

"So far. There are only eight other girls there. The old lady who runs the establishment seems terribly fond of them."

"Maybe she could be fond of you too," David said. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Yes. Maybe we'll all become like sisters before the month is out, and I'll always do low work for very little money because I love them dearly."

David stopped walking and turned to face Sarah. He hadn't expected such venom from his sister, and from the way that her cheeks reddened he could guess that she hadn't meant for it to come out like that, but he couldn't just not say anything.

"We need something to eat tonight. Selling papers will buy us that. The Sun* takes on girl newsies with the boys. Want to go try your hand at it?"

Sarah shook her head.

"It's ridiculous for us to fight," she said. "I'm sorry for starting it. Let's make up and call it a day, shall we?"

David nodded, and they walked in silence for a minute or two, but he knew that even if Sarah would never want to hurt him or make him angry, she'd spoken her true opinion on their arrangement.

"I _do_ plan on getting a real job as soon as possible," he assured her.

"I know."

"I don't think you've made the wrong choice working where you do, instead of at one of the big factories. I don't want anybody to treat you the way Pa's factory does its workers. They're going on strike for a reason."

"They wouldn't go on strike if the job wasn't worth holding onto," Sarah pointed out. "They'd go find something better. They certainly wouldn't come work with me. That would mean falling down another rung."

"They're going on strike because they're angry, and they want to make Perkins and the management pay through the nose," David said.

"No, that would be us," Sarah said. "That's why we're helping them. They're going on strike because they want to keep their contracted salary and get better working conditions on top of it."

They'd arrived at the distribution center by now. The line of newsies was already forming, but the window hadn't opened up yet. As usual Jack was right up at the front, talking to Race who stood behind him. He wasn't any more patient than he had been that summer, but he didn't bang on the wood the way he used to back when Weasel and the Delancy brothers had worked the counter. Blink was the first to see them, and he gave David a wave before shouting out his good morning to Sarah. This led to about a dozen other of the guys shouting their greeting at her.

"I'd better get going," David said with an apologetic look at the rowdy group behind them.

"Take care of yourself."

"You too."

Sarah looked about to leave, but suddenly stopped and pulled him into a hug before dashing off. David didn't say anything, but he hugged her back. He couldn't help but think about how odd their conversation had been though. Usually he was the cynic and Sarah the hopeful one, and if Sarah had simply sat on the floor sobbing and refused to go to work that morning, it might not have seemed quite so dire to him as this change of places.

"Hey," Jack said, gesturing him over to buy his papers. That summer he'd been in the habit of trying to stand in his proper spot in the line behind any boys who had gotten there first, but Jack would only pull him to the front with him if he did that. Now he didn't even bother. Nobody seemed to mind anyway.

"So," said Racetrack, chewing on his cigar, "I hear you'se plotting revenge on the owners of your Pa's factory."

Behind him David heard somebody laugh, and a few echoes of the word "revenge", which was apparently the funniest thing anyone had ever heard.

"You could say that. I'm not really plotting though. Just helping out."

"Nu-uh," said Jack. "They won't be able to pull it off without you, and you know it."

"Hey Dave," Mush said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "I betcha in the end you become foreman of the factory or something, and all the workers'll like you, 'cause you knows how to treat 'em."

"You mean like the time Jack stood up to Pulitzer, took over The World, and is now the biggest newspaper tycoon in New York City and benevolent ruler of us all?" David asked, even though he didn't mind Mush's vote of confidence.

"That's Jack. Real benevolent," said Snipeshooter, who appeared to be under the impression that benevolent was probably a synonym for idiotic or something along those lines.

"Careful, or I'm gonna benevolent up your face and see how well you like it," Jack warned. David saw him mouth something to Snipeshooter that looked suspiciously like _don't forget the plan_ as the younger boy darted away. David raised his eyesbrows at Jack, but he just acted like he hadn't noticed.

"Guy's always late," Jack said, with an annoyed gesture at the distribution center. "Not saying I don't prefer him to Weasel, but it wouldn't kill him to be on time once in a while."

"Dunno," said Racetrack. "Guy's like 80 years old."

"I know, I know…" Jack said. Luckily for them the window opened at that point, and they were able to buy their papes from the smiling old man behind it who knew all of their names and always wished them luck before they departed.

"What's your plan?" David asked, once the group had dispersed to go off to their different selling spots.

"No plan. Did you and Sarah fight this morning?"

"How did you know?" David asked in surprise.

"She don't usually leap into your arms like that. What's up with her?"

"Nothing. So, about that plan of yours…"

"Sorry Davey. No dice. Doesn't got nothing to do with you anyways. Tell me about Sarah."

"She's only had her job for less than two days, and it's already making her miserable. Not that she needed any help with that."

Jack frowned.

"It's also that mine doesn't make me miserable," David admitted. He'd felt remarkably normal and happy that morning, just talking with Jack and the other guys, and Sarah didn't have anything like that.

"That's something I take pride in," Jack said.

"What?"

"Not making you miserable."

"In that case," David said, "You'll tell me every detail of this plan of yours, because the misery of not knowing is killing me.

Jack just laughed at him, and together they set off to sell the day's headlines.

;';';';';';';'

_Notes: Not a lot of notes this time. Thanks to Kinoutcast for the review! In regards to the throw away comment about girl newsies working for the Sun, yes I am aware that historically there were girl newsies for just about every paper. That said, the film doesn't have any girl newsies working for the World, and I'm just going to go with that. Also, this will probably be the last mention of girl newsies in this fic. Awesome idea, but the rest of seems to have that covered! HOWEVER wouldn't a cross over with Game of Thrones in which Arya Stark somehow crosses time and space to become a Newsie be an AMAZING idea? No? Okay. It probably wouldn't. Please review. Thanks. _


	14. Chapter 14

The girl with bugs in her hair was German. She liked to hum to herself while she sewed, and her name was Anna. That was the main thing that Sarah tried to remember – her name was Anna, not Bug Hair Girl. It probably wasn't even her fault that her golden curls were absolutely infested. With the way things had been going for Sarah, she'd probably get them too. She almost jumped out of her seat when she noticed something crawling on the swath of fabric she'd just picked up, only to feel deeply relieved when she noticed that it was only a spider. She wasn't exactly the skittish type, but whatever she'd felt about the spiders she'd encountered in the past, _relief_ had never before figured into that emotional equation.

The thing with spiders was that they didn't ever seem to multiply and become unmanageable. Even if there was some nook in your home that you forgot to dust for a long time, you would never find a web with thousands of them. It wasn't like the time that Les stole a peach from one of the other students at school, hid it in a vase, and attracted vast droves of fruit flies before finally admitting to what he'd done. If you saw one fruit fly, you could place money on having an army of them soon enough, and Sarah had a sinking suspicion that the head bugs would be a similar situation.

The day wore on. The work was easy in that it didn't require much thought and could be done mechanically. It was difficult in that it made your fingers ache after a few hours, especially with the cold that pervaded the little factory.

At around 11:30, Anna leaned over to ask Sarah in shy, halting English whether or not she had a "fellow". Anna, it seemed, did.

At twelve o'clock, they broke for lunch. Emma, a plump girl with dark hair and blue eyes, laughingly counted up how many pairs of knee pants each of them had produced. Sarah came in third, which wasn't such a bad place to be out of seven. Anna was accused of making so little because she only thought about singing and fellows. Sarah privately thought it was because she kept having to stop to scratch her head.

One o'clock should have been the warmest part of the day, but by some rule of contraries that was the point where Sarah found herself shivering as she worked, her usually nimble fingers growing stiffer by the second. The old lady who ran the place tried to give her a blanket to throw over her shoulders, but Sarah shrugged it off quickly, worried about what it might be harboring. The old lady just gave her a knowing look and ushered her into the kitchen.

"You're worried about this?" The lady pulled on Sarah's hair, and she flinched away involuntarily. The lady just laughed, and rummaged for a bottle of something under the stove. "Understand," the woman explained, "You'll have to buy your own from here on out, and stay away from open flames if you use it…"

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Take a whiff."

Sarah did as she was told, then backed quickly away. "Kerosene," she said decidedly.

"It doesn't smell nice, but it does the trick sure enough. Put it through your hair now, then braid it tightly back behind your head, and you hasn't a thing to worry about."

Sarah nodded, and watched as the woman bustled off, leaving her to try and figure out on her own just how much kerosene she ought to use. It was free, so Sarah decided she might as well do a thorough job. It made her scalp tingle and her eyes water. Nonetheless, she felt better and more relaxed after, and was able to worry less. Anna's humming was pleasant, at least. Music, even of the smallest most humble sort, had a way of making time pass more quickly.

Emma, who worked across from her, was talking to another girl who Sarah could not yet name about books she had read as a child, when she still had time to read. Part of Sarah longed to join in, as books were one of her chief pleasures in life, and another part of her wondered if she would also not have time to read anymore. In the end she was quiet and focused on her sewing, telling herself that there was no sense in talking to these girls when she would be leaving them for another situation as soon as she had money in her pocket. The machines buzzed softly, and Anna hummed over them, probably thinking of her fellow. Sarah wondered who he was, where he was from, and if he minded at all about the bugs. Maybe Anna made up for it all by being pretty and sweet, or maybe he saw the trouble she was in and wanted to rescue her. Maybe Anna was exciting and bright, full of ideas and pleasing eccentricities that Sarah didn't see because she didn't really know her. For all Sarah knew she'd been shipwrecked on her trip to America, spent days fighting for her life on a tiny raft, battled sharks, overcome thirst, and been a princess in her home country before becoming the Bug Hair Girl of the Backersstreet Knickerbocker factory.

Sarah had never had any fellow besides Jack, and she'd bored him half to death.

There was no more use thinking about that than there was in talking to the other girls. Her father had said something once about factory owners treating people like machines. Maybe that was the sort of factory she had to find, one fast paced and mechanical where everything else could be forgotten.

Nobody ever checked on her work besides Emma, who, Sarah got a feeling, did it out of idle curiosity and the desire to avoid her own. Before the day was up, Sarah had gone from third in the ranking to second. At least sewing was something she could do quickly.

Anna was the first to leave, slipping out the door a full five minutes before she had to go. Some factories kept the doors locked to keep employees from doing that.

Another pair of girls left after her, whispering in a language that Sarah didn't know, and gathering up a basket of material so that they might finish their work at home. Sarah decided that she should follow their lead. She didn't have a machine at home, but she could do a few more by hand. Maybe she could even teach David and Les to help—and she knew that mother would.

It was already dark when Sarah stepped outside. It couldn't have been later than seven o'clock. But in winter, seven o'clock was practically midnight. In the past her mother and father had always told her not to walk outside alone after dark, but now with only mother left they had to be realistic. The change in rules hadn't even been discussed, just forgotten over the course of a couple of days. Sarah would never bring it up. She remembered how worried her mother had been that summer, when David and Les had first joined the newsies.

She did wish for light though, if only because she'd never been to the restaurant that the men from her father's family were to meet, and she wasn't certain of the way. She knew that it couldn't be terribly far, but she had no interest in spending a great deal of time on what should only be half an hour's walk.

Three wrong turns and two attempts at backtracking later, Sarah was so startled by a hand on her shoulder that she gave a gasp and dropped her basket.

"Sorry, Sarah… I mean, miss Sarah. Didn't mean to startle you any," said the blond-haired boy behind her, removing his newsboy's cap. Sarah only vaguely recognized him as being one of Jack and David's set, and she could not have named him if she tried, but at least she knew that he wasn't somebody she had to worry about.

"It's nothing," she said quickly. She glanced around her. Nobody else was about. If he'd been of the sort to mean her any harm, she would have been in trouble.

"Were you taking a walk, miss? Not really the best place for it."

"I'm looking for this place, actually." Sarah took the piece of paper with the address out of her apron pocket and showed it to him. He pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded, but didn't give any sign of recognition. "You don't know it?" Sarah asked, a little desperately.

"No, sorry."

She sighed, "Well, then I'd probably best work out how to find it by myself."

"I can go with you, if you like," the boy said. He spoke quietly. Sarah didn't know most of the newsies very well. She'd spoken a few times with Racetrack, Blink, and Mush, and she'd had a short but interesting conversation at the World Headquarters with Spot Conlon when David and Jack had been inside facing Pulitzer. Even so, it was easy to see why she'd forgotten this boy compared to those others.

Sarah nodded. She wondered if they'd ever been introduced, and if it would be rude to ask his name. He didn't offer it, but picked up her basket and kept silent as they set off together.

Wrong turns aside, Sarah did eventually find the place. A part of her had been dreading this meeting, but from the windows the restaurant looked warm and bright.

"Why didn't you say it was here?" The boy beside her said, with a laugh that was the loudest thing Sarah had heard from him all night.

"I showed you the paper…"

"Right," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Sarah thought she caught him blush, but if he had it vanished into a smile within a moment. "Well, here you go," he said, handing her the basket. Sarah supposed that he would have run off had Jack caught sight of him from the window, waved, then bounded out to meet them both with Les trailing behind him.

"Sarah," Les said, giving her an excited hug. "You won't guess what happened at school today. Hey, why does your hair stink?"

Sarah felt the heat rise at that comment. She hoped she didn't look _quite_ as red as your average tomato, but she had enough of a sense of realism to know otherwise.

"I don't smell nothing," Jack said quickly, pulling Les back towards him. "What about you Dutchy?"

"Nothing."

"Be careful," Sarah said, trying for humor. "If you light a cigarette around me today my head will burst into flames."

Jack just gave her a weird look at that, like he couldn't figure out what on earth was going on, which was fair enough.

"Why'll your head burst into flames?" Les asked obligingly.

"I'm covered in lamp oil. It's a long story."

"Right," Jack said quickly. "You might not wanna go in there for a minute."

A second later, Jack was in the restaurant ordering everybody to stop smoking, because it was really a matter of life or death that they didn't, in the way that only Jack could. Well, Jack and Les, since he'd dashed in right after him and was making it known that his sister's head would explode in a bloody terrible way if they even tried it. God help them all, Les even had his sword out.

Sarah wondered if it was possible for her face to go even _redder_ than the tomato she'd been envisaging earlier.

"So…" Dutchy said, looked down at his feet, "Lamp oil."

Sarah nodded, then let out a breath. "It's wonderfully bracing, you know," she said. "People say it's good for your scalp."

"Are you okay?" David asked, coming out of the door to find her.

Sarah nodded.

"I can't believe that Jack just made all of those men put down their cigarettes. A few of them have promised to drink twice as much to make up for it. This should be an interesting night. Come on."

Sarah let herself be pulled inside. Dutchy waited, as if not quite sure if he should go in or stay out, but then picked up her work basket and followed.

There was a prodigious crowd in the restaurant, and though all cigarettes had been put out in accordance with Jack's orders, the smoke still hung heavy in the room. Sarah was a bit surprised to see that her mother was there along with David and Les, but also glad of it. They had their own small table along with Jack, and a seat was found soon enough for Dutchy. Sarah just sat down and rested her head on her mother's shoulder, not caring what kind of picture it made. Besides, Mama probably needed it every bit as much as she did.

:o:o:

Martin's wasn't a bad joint. It was a lot bigger than Tibby's, and a lot more about drinks than food. There was a pool table and billiards. Jack guessed it'd be a fun place to relax for an evening if he could ever afford it. He didn't have to worry about affording it tonight. The factory guys made sure they were taken care of, and even Dutchy, who'd shown up out of the blue, got a beer and a bowl of steaming hot stew out of the deal.

David had been talkative all day, but gotten quiet again when faced with the crowds that just wanted to know (over and over and over again) how he was doing, and to apologize for his loss like they'd had anything to do with it. One guy who was tearful and drunk out of his mind had even embraced David and not let go for a good three minutes while David patted his back awkwardly and looked like he needed to escape.

It was a surprise when David's mom came along with Les, but at least it got some of the attention off of him. Sarah arrived only a few minutes later, and sat with her head on her mother's shoulder as if she'd had as much of the day as she could take about twenty-three hours ago.

Les, at least, was in his element.

"I didn't finish telling you what happened at school today," he said, bouncing in his seat. "Hey, Sarah, I didn't get to tell you any of it at all. Listen to this." He poked Sarah's shoulder with the edge of his sword, but at that moment, the big guy called Richard came over and clapped David on the back.

"How are you doing?" He asked.

"That's all everybody keeps asking me," David said.

"Right. How many times have you lied to them, huh, kid?" said Pat, who might as well have been Richard's shorter drunker shadow from what Jack could tell.

"None," David said, as if he'd just been asked a really dumb question.

"Sure, sure. You know that's not what we need, right kid?"

"Sorry," David said, his voice going cold. "I'm absolutely overcome with misery. Is that what you were looking for?"

"Ha, not bad. Ever tried putting lemon juice in your eye? Look, they're perfect targets, the way they go wide like that. Just like Mayer's."

"Sorry," Richard said quickly. "I don't even know why I keep him around."

"It might be worth examining," Sarah muttered, not lifting her head from her mother's shoulder.

"Hey, Rich, I got an idea, let's make _her_ talk to all the guys."

Richard gave him such a glare that he shut up, before sitting down with them at their table.

"Well," Richard said from his seat across from David, "the others are pretty amiable to starting things up. They just need a plan and a little push."

"And lots of liquor," Pat added.

"That, too. I guess you know we don't have a union."

"If you go on strike, then you are a union." David looked right at Jack as he said it. Now this was more like it. Jack had reached out to touch his back, and he could actually feel him relax just the smallest bit.

"Well," said Richard, "That's fine, but we don't have money for badges or hats or any of that. It might be hard to convince others."

"If you say it loud enough they'll have to listen," Jack said.

"Not everybody is ready to stand by us. About thirty percent of the workers are staying put."

"Maybe they can't," David said. "It's like Pat said the other day, they can't just let their families starve. Maybe it seems like they're against you now, but they need your help if you're willing to give it."

Richard nodded. Jack leaned back in his chair.

"Hey Davey, don't you got something to say about profit margins or something about that?"

"They'll definitely be down if seventy percent of the workers aren't doing their job, like you said. You just have to make sure that the papers make the factory look bad and you look like heroes, and do what you can to keep new workers from taking your places. Even if they do take your places, that will be hundreds upon hundreds of people to train all at once. The factory won't be able to handle it."

"Shouldn't be too hard to make the papes like you," Jack said. "Since they aren't your enemy or nothing."

"You have to be organized and clear about your demands. Know what it is you're going in there for."

"You can also take an ax or something and break up all their machines if you want!" Les piped in. Jack laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Definitely _don't_ do that," was David's completely predictable input on that matter.

"Great," Richard said, getting to his feet. He squeezed David's shoulder quickly. "I had better get this started."

A second later and, much to Jack's surprise, this big tall man was climbing right up onto the bar.

"Now," he shouted. "Everybody listen to me."

"Hey, look, show's on the road," Jack whispered, leaning into David a bit. It wouldn't hurt to rouse him, since Jack got the feeling he was going to be the star player pretty soon.

"You all know why we've come here today," Richard boomed mightily from his perch up there on the bar. A bunch of the guys started clapping and shouting right off the bat.

"He don't need to do half as much convincing to do as we did," Jack said in David's ear. David only nodded. "It's a good thing, since you ain't writing his speeches," he continued. This won him a half smile.

"The management," Richard said, "has disrespected us again and again. For some of us the price of this disrespect has been our lives. This isn't about bathroom breaks and getting in the door on time. It's about them tearing families apart and then acting like they're blameless and we are the ones who need to be punished for noticing. It's about the fact that they don't give a damn about any one of us, and try to steal money from children when they should be trying desperately to make right."

There was a round of applause, and several hoots of agreement from the people sitting at their tables.

"He doesn't need me to write his speeches," David whispered, clearly impressed. Richard's next words, however, were enough to make him go pale.

"David Jacobs would like to stand up here and say a few words to us about his father and what Perkins had to say to him when he came to collect his wages."

Sarah lifted her head from her mother's shoulder with a look of incredulous surprise.

"Looks like he wants you to give them for him," Jack said. He smiled, and though part of him was definitely annoyed at the guy for backing David into a corner and stealing words from him like this, he had to hand it to him that this was a game he knew how to play. There was no way that David could back out now.

And Jack _did_ want to know what he'd have to say, even if the look on David's face as he stood up was almost enough to make Jack want to tell him to just sit down and forget about it. At least Jack thought he'd caught that kind of look. By the time that Richard had pulled him up to stand beside him on the bar, David looked composed enough.

"There isn't a lot to tell about Perkins," David started. "Since you all know what kind of man he is anyway. He didn't want to pay my father's wages. It's as simple as that. He tried to find justification in the contract, at first. He lied to you all when he asked you to sign it, and told you it was to protect your rights, but there isn't a single right outlined in that piece of paper, and there are so many things to be twisted for his purposes."

David had started out speaking softly… not speaking badly, really, just in a soft measured way that didn't much fit the situation. It was only around the part that he started talking about contracts and lies that he started to sound like somebody standing on top of a table instead of somebody sitting across from you discussing some grave matter over supper.

"Burn the contracts," Jack shouted out, thinking that idea might give him a boost. It actually just gave everybody else a boost and got them shouting about burning things, which, knowing David, probably just made him feel more overwhelmed. Jack tried not to feel bad about that. It had been a good idea, at least. David would have climbed down from the table at that point, but Richard shouted at everyone to shut up and let him finish.

"You can't make this all about my father," David said. "He… he was… maybe he never had a chance to be a great man, but he was a good one, and he didn't deserve to have this happen to him. Nobody deserves to go out in that way. He…" David shook his head as if to clear it, before continuing.

"This isn't about him," David said loudly and clearly. "It's about all of you, because you are alive, and you have the chance to make this change. Furthermore, you can make it, and you need it. My dad would have liked what you're doing now, but there will be others who think you should just stay put and worry more about what you have to lose than what you have to gain. And some of them will be good men, like my father, and you'll understand their line of reasoning, but what you have to remember is that what you have to lose if you don't go through with this is everything."

David didn't wait for the applause to start before jumping down from the table, but it started sure enough. In a second the crowd had surged around him, and Sarah had jumped to her feet to go and get him. Esther Jacobs was wiping something from her eye, and she started to stand up as well, but Jack put a hand on her shoulder.

"Sarah and I have got this," he promised her.

"Can I go up there and talk to them, too?" Les asked. "I can tell them all kinds of stuff about striking and my dad."

"Good idea," Jack said quickly, thinking maybe that would be enough of a distraction to get David unsurrounded and back to his seat. He helped lift Les onto the top of the bar where David had just stood, and shouted out for everybody to pay attention to him. It mostly worked, because the bar got quieter, and Jack was able to see David and Sarah through the other people. Sarah gestured that he should follow them outside, so he did.

"Are you alright?" Sarah asked.

David just nodded. He seemed a little shaky maybe, but otherwise fine. Jack let himself smile.

"You were pretty impressive up there," he said, wishing for a brief instant that Sarah wasn't there, so he could have David all to himself. He didn't even know why, or what he would do. Maybe hug him or something.

David shrugged.

"I probably shouldn't say anything," he said finally. "They gave me like five shots of something back there. Maybe a lot of different things. They tasted horrible. I don't know why people take them…"

"Why did you?" Sarah scolded.

"It was the only way to get them out of my hands. Thought they'd leave me alone if I did. I feel okay. I don't think I'm drunk. But I really shouldn't say anything. Everything that comes out of drunk people's mouths is stupid."

"I'll go get Mama and Les and tell them we're leaving. If they aren't pouring whiskey down Les's throat after that trick you pulled putting him on the table," Sarah said, dashing back into the bar. Jack took the opportunity to close the distance between him and David. Again there was that second of not quite knowing what it was he wanted to do to David, other than be close to him. He ended up brushing his palm against the side of David's face, which was cool from the winter air around them. The nice thing about David being quiet for fear of being a stupid drunk was that he didn't open his mouth to tell Jack how stupid _he_ was being.

"You forgot the part of your speech where you jump up and down and tell them all to seize the day," Jack said, backing off only slightly when he saw the family and Dutchy exiting the restaurant.

"I like these guys." Les announced. "They all listened to what I had to say. I told them about how they have to slay giants and stand together, no matter what. Also, Carpe Diem. See, I used Latin, and somebody even knew what it meant and told the dumb ones who didn't all about it."

"I bet they thought you was really smart for talking Latin to 'em."

"Is David drunk?" asked Dutchy, who'd not said a word through the entire meeting, but seemed to find the prospect of a drunk David interesting.

"Not really. He drank a lot real quick. Give him five minutes."

"He's too busy to stay," David said. "He has to go back to the lodging house and sleep."

Dutchy didn't need to be told twice, "I… Sarah, you forgot your sewing. I'll get it for you and get going."

"I can't believe I forgot it again…" Sarah muttered, running back in after him, kerosene-scented braid flying back behind her.

"We're going to make you drink a whole jug of water and put you to bed as soon as we get home," Esther, clicking her teeth with a lot more concern than Jack figured the whole situation warranted. David just nodded. Jack waited till Sarah was back, then pulled David's arm up over his shoulder, wrapped his own arm around David's waist, and set off.

He knew that whatever David had drank was hitting him when Esther made a comment about how glad she was that the newspaper strike hadn't gotten out of hand as quickly as this one had, and David actually laughed at her.

"I tied a rope to Jack and we went fishing for Crutchy on the roof of the Refuge," David explained. "But I'm not talking now."

Esther raised her eyebrows, "It might be for the best. Boys need their secrets. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"He was wrongfully imprisoned."

"I'm sure he was."

The rest of the walk was just Les talking about how Snipeshooter and Boots had shown up at the fence by the school gate and played marbles with him through the grates. They weren't allowed inside. David stumbled once or twice, and definitely wasn't paying attention, which was a bit disappointing because Jack had wanted to see him look surprised at what he'd arranged so well that morning.

"I'm going to go up the stairs by myself because I'm going to _concentrate_," David announced once they got back to the tenement. Sarah shook her head at Jack, as if he'd even consider letting him go.

"No, you ain't," Jack said.

"Right. Not by myself. But I _will_ concentrate."

"Good idea."

True to his word, David kept his eyes open and trained on the steps, for all the good that it did him. Les dashed up ahead of them all, while Esther and Sarah tried to keep a similar pace.

"Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"You're my favorite."

Jack broke into a smile, not minding so much that David was getting heavier, or at least putting more weight on him as the steps proved long and tricky.

"Favorite what?"

"Everything."

"You're my favorite everything, too," Jack said lightly, like he was joking, though there was a part of him that felt really warm and happy.

Or, at least, warm and happy was how he felt until David threw up on the steps.


	15. Chapter 15

Sarah ended up being the one to clean David's vomit from the staircase. She didn't want mother to do it, and Jack seemed occupied in watching dumbly as David was prepared for bed, so Sarah grabbed a mop and bucket and went down to where the mess was. She only hoped that the neighbors wouldn't notice. At least it smelled worse than her hair did.

The mop proved useless. All it did was move the remnants of David's dinner around, spread them out, and make them wetter, so Sarah went up stairs to rummage about for a dustpan. Mother had repositioned David in the bed that he'd all but nose-dived into upon getting home, and was in the process of untying his tie and loosening the top buttons on his shirt. Sarah didn't begrudge her this; taking care of her children was something that Mama could do, and something David hadn't let her do much of since that summer and their first bout of troubles.

Jack was watching the whole scene with that strange, hungry look he got sometimes. This she could forgive him for, since he didn't have a mother of his own, only a group of boys who would be just as likely to tease him as walk him home if he ever found himself in such a state. It wasn't enough to make her happy with having the worst task out of any of them that night, but at least she was resigned, and it went quickly once she got the idea of using the dustpan to shovel up the mess and plop it into the water.

When Sarah got back to the apartment, Jack was sitting on the edge of David's bed talking to her mother, happy as could be.

"I got the feeling they're gonna come out alright, those guys at the factory," he said. He leant forward with his hands on his knees like he might leap up any second, out of excitement more than any inclination to leave. "They got some fight in them, that's for sure, and it's the right time for it."

"Is it ever the right time for this kind of thing?" Her mother asked, her voice soft. Sarah put down her bucket, trying to keep quiet, though she doubted a herd of elephants could wake David just now.

"Well, the way I is looking at it is those guys're riding on the backs of us what's come before them. The trolley strike and everything with Pulitzer. Perkins or whoever it is that owns the factory's gotta know about all that, so they's gotta know that they'd be dumbasses to hold out too long. And the best part is, this is gonna keep happening over and over till the ones in power ain't got nothing no more. Wait another five years and we won't even recognize this city."

Jack spread out his hands like he could already see this better version of New York right in front of him, and Sarah didn't doubt that he could. Jack wasn't one for realism. She'd heard him talk like this before, but only when he was really happy about something – happy enough for whatever it was that had made him happy in the first place to seep into city around him and turn filthy New York into a dynamic, ever changing wonderland. The rest of the time it was just Santa Fe this, Sante Fe that, always Santa Fe.

Even so, her mother's pinched smiled softened into one of genuine affection, the way it did when she went from being worried by the things that came out of Jack's mouth to being completely disarmed by him. Sighing, she patted David on the shoulder, and took a seat beside Jack on the bed.

"Well," she said, "I only hope this new city will still include my boys – all _three_ of them, don't you forget that for a second- and my dear, hardworking girl as well."

Sarah saw that this was her cue to come over, and she did, to receive the kiss on the cheek that mother was always ready with. Sarah couldn't say why _that_ of all things should have dampened Jack's high spirits, but he looked down at his lap, and when he next spoke his voice was about as subdued as Jack ever got.

"I better get going. Don't worry yourself about Dave, yeah? I seen guys a lot worse off than him."

Mother rolled her eyes, "You know just how to worry me about what goes on at that lodge of yours." She gave Jack's arm a smack as he stood up, adjusting his hat. Sarah jumped up to get the door and preempt him from climbing out the window.

"We don't get in no trouble that we can't handle, Ma'am," Jack promised as he was closing the door.

"I could give David a good shake and ask him all about it," mother threatened. "Fishing for Crutchy. Honestly."

That put the smile back on Jack's face. Sarah tried not to wonder how an evening that had been so difficult could leave him in such high spirits, but bid him a polite goodnight.

Mother shook her head as Sarah closed the door. She leaned over David, smoothing the blankets that covered his sleeping frame.

"David won't let Jack get himself killed," Sarah said, guessing at what her mother was thinking.

"I never quite know if they're protecting one another or hurdling each other towards disaster, but I'd rather send David out there with Jack than have him on those streets alone."

Sarah nodded. There had been times when her mother hadn't liked Jack. It had taken all of Papa's urgings to keep her from banning him from the home after that first night when David had brought him over. Sarah had heard about it as she'd heard about many of the things that went on in their tiny apartment – lying in her bed, eyes closed, blankets pulled up to her chin, and nowhere _near_ as fast asleep as others believed her to be. Mama had fretted and worried, and Papa had calmly pointed out that David _never_ brought friends home, and they ought to trust that he wouldn't do so if he didn't see something in the boy. By the time that he and Sarah had called off their flirtation everybody in the house had known Jack long enough to understand just what it was David saw in him, and why the cowboy's many faults weren't the biggest part of that picture. Mother's wrath had been short but explosive, and though even David had heard it this time, it hadn't outlasted the nervous look on Jack's face when he'd come over to apologize, and Sarah's own flustered, red-faced explanations that _she_ had really been the one to initiate the whole of it.

"They look after each other," Sarah said. She smoothed out her skirt. Her voice sounded dull to her own ears, and the only way to keep all-over dullness from being the only thing that she felt was to remind herself of what had made her so tired in the first place, until the sheer overwhelming knowledge of it tied her stomach in knots.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle what had happened to Papa and what it had brought them. Of course she could handle it. She could handle anything, if she had to.

It also wasn't that she was still in love with Jack. It was just that she'd seen more of him over the last week or so than she had since David had first gone back to school, and spending time with him made her feel lonely in a way that she couldn't quite understand, and wouldn't try to understand, since it was just a stupid, girlish affliction, and the very least of their problems. Loneliness she could overcome, along with all of the other weaknesses that plagued her.

"And who is looking out for you, hmm?" Her mother asked, never guessing the armor that Sarah was fighting to build up, or the power so simple a question had to dent that fledgling steel.

"Nobody, aside from the people in this room," Sarah admitted. "The girls at school are useless," Sarah hastened to explain, for her mother looked like she might want to argue the point.

"Now you sound like your brother," her mother whispered, with a worried glance from Sarah to that sleeping form.

It was true. Sarah had always had been better at talking to the other students at school than David had, and most had liked her because she was pretty and unassuming, but not saying or doing the wrong thing had been as constant a battle for her as it had ever been for him; she'd only had a better understanding of what she was up against, and the rules of the game, instead of being frequently mystified by it, as David was.

"It's probably genetic," Sarah said. She shook her head at her mother's blank look. Esther Jacobs had never been to school herself, and Papa had stopped going around fourth grade, and scrambled to educate himself in any way that he could thereafter. They'd both worked hard to propel their children into a social class they'd never been a part of, and now Sarah felt most keenly that she was seeing the fruits of their experiment, and that they weren't what anybody had hoped.

Mother's hand ran its way through her hair.

"Did you douse it in kerosene because somebody at work has lice?" She asked gently, to which Sarah nodded.

"Please look and tell me that I haven't caught them as well. I don't think I could take it."

Mother obliged, combing through her long hair for what felt like hours, before pronouncing that Sarah was fine.

It was a great comfort to know that before going to bed, because even if the kerosene made her skin itch and burn a little, it was not enough to keep her up all night as the mere thought of those vile insects would have.

OoOOoO

David had always been prone to weird dreams. This time it was something about having far too many limbs that were trying to move in a dozen different completely wrong directions, but really just wanting to tell Jack how great he was because he was leaning on his shoulder and they were going somewhere where they could all change back into humans again.

David's first waking thought was that his head hurt and that the best and most logical course of action would be never to get out of bed again ever. He still hadn't reached the becoming human place, after all, which had to be why he felt so uncomfortable. He rolled over into his pillow with the full intention of carrying out this plan, but the problem with waking thoughts was that they tended to come in droves once they began, and get more and more connected to reality with each passing second. Hence the panicked feeling that it must be late and he _had _to get out the door and sell newspapers right away, or eating food was over forever. The third thought to come rushing down upon him with a devastating force was that he was a complete and total unadulterated idiot.

His eyes flew open and he bolted up into a sitting position, only to rest his aching head in his hands almost immediately after. It was still dark, and he'd caught a glimpse of Sarah sleeping peacefully in her bed. Okay, one less thing to be worried about. He wanted to hit something, but instead he forced himself to try and calmly think back to everything that had happened the night before.

He'd given a speech. He'd discovered that talking about his father still made his voice shake. He'd discovered that he hadn't even been _thinking_ about his father, until someone was suddenly forcing him to talk about him in front of hundreds of people. He wasn't sure if it had been a good speech or not. The only thing he knew was that he'd given at least one good speech before, and it had made him feel triumphant and excited, and this hadn't.

Forget the speech. People had cheered. Maybe it was fine. Moving on.

Getting surrounded after.

He wondered if that was how Weasel had felt that day when they'd all stormed the distribution office and torn apart the papers until they flew about like an August snowstorm, only that didn't make a lot of sense.

The factory guys weren't his enemies, far from it, and it wasn't as though he couldn't deal with crowds normally. He just hadn't been able to deal with them last night, not when they were all running at him, pressing cups to his lips, or putting tiny glasses in his hands. He didn't want to imagine what his family had thought of the situation, not to mention Jack and even Dutchy.

The rest was increasingly blurry, though it was mostly about hanging onto Jack for dear life as he tried to climb the stairs, the only thing that David could think was that his father would have been ashamed to see him last night.

David flopped back on the bed to stare at the ceiling, and even if he felt sick enough to make the thought of getting out of bed daunting, he really wished that morning would hurry up and come so he could go about his business and hopefully do it well.

He didn't manage to fall asleep before having to get up in earnest, but he did manage to keep down his breakfast, which was a start.

Sarah teasing him on the way to work also went a long way in returning David's feelings of normalcy and equilibrium.

"Yes, you were terrible," she explained. "You spent most of the evening sitting on the steps crying, confessed every fist-fight you've ever been completely useless in, and finished off the performance by giving me a black eye and swearing your allegiance Weasel the newspaper distributor."

"Why just Weasel?" David asked. "Why not go straight to the top and ally myself with Pulitzer himself?"

Sarah clutched her hand to her chest, stumbled, and in an excellent imitation of confessional drunkenness slurred, "But that Weasel is just…so… beautiful."

David rolled his eyes, and even if he could feel his face reddening, he smiled in spite of himself.

"You weren't the worst drunk to ever walk these streets," Sarah assured him finally.

"Either way I won't do that again."

"I should hope not. You made a mess everywhere, and I had to clean up… no, don't smile, I'm completely serious about this part. You're in my debt."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Sarah said, "Just never call Jack your 'favorite everything again', and leave me favorite sister at the very least."

"I didn't really say that, did I?"

Sarah only had time to raise her eyebrows at him. They'd come close enough to the distribution center for a couple of guys to notice Sarah and call out their hellos as they did every morning. David groaned.

"I'd better go to work," Sarah said with a shrug, as if she was not pleased with the prospect, and for a moment looked bereft enough to make David forget his own embarrassment. Then she turned to go, walking more quickly on her own than she had when it was the two of them together.

She didn't see Dutchy turn to wave at her a little too late, or Jack clapping him on the back with an amused grin. David did, and wondered at it briefly.

Jack didn't have anything to say about the drunken stumbling of the night before, but he had a lot to say about the factory and the strike.

"Couldn't sleep, so I went back to the restaurant after I left your place. All those guys was shouting, and burning up the contracts, just like you told them to…"

"I didn't… you told them to… wait, how did they even get the contracts?" David sputtered.

"Broke into the factory, I guess."

"Oh," David said.

"Well, don't stand there looking like you just dropped down from the moon or something. Take a look at the front page of your papers, will ya?"

David had to adjust the pile of a hundred that he was carrying under his arm, so that he could get a good look at the top one. Flames, and Richard's increasingly familiar face stared intently back at him.

"They work quickly," was all David could think of to say. Jack had reached up to sort of massage his neck, and he was just beaming satisfaction. David smiled back uncertainly.

"You know what else?" Jack asked.

"What?"

"Your Pa's funereal is tomorrow, right?"

David nodded.

"They's all coming. Going to make a big thing of it. Everybody in the city's gonna know his name soon, Davey. He'll be a hero or something."


End file.
